#/the rumours are true... he is in fact... a monster

[c-harlesemerson]

Charlie's eyes narrowed a fraction before quickly relaxing. Corey wasn't taking the bait. He was throwing some of his best annoyances his way and was getting nothing but a wisp of nostalgia? Between this guy and Carrie, this place was becoming a manic nightmare. Maybe Carrie would be able to get a reaction out of him. "Okay, the past tense just hurts, Chris is still my best friend. Like who is the alternative? William?" Charlie scrunched up his face, trying to get his train of thought back on track. "You think because I'm... well... me that I don't have a heart?" He scoffed, "Corny, please, you're not the only one who lost a McReid."

Corey watched as Charlie sampled his dinner. Normally commentary on his endearingly termed 'Bambi diet' would annoy him, but he couldn't argue with Charlie on this as of late - it tasted vile. It all tasted vile. He'd not managed to finish a single meal in weeks without being ill, and the thud of the bag hitting the desk was nearly enough to make him retch. "It's all I need," Corey said, his eyes following Charlie's movements across the room as he systematically displaced his belongings - the type of petty behaviour he knew all too well having grown up with brothers. The mention of his given name nearly made him snicker, reminding him just how long ago it was since they were just dumb kids, "I haven't heard that name in a long time," he mused, but the thought of Chris rained down on his nostalgia. "Yeah, Chris was your best friend. I was his brother. I don't think we need to dwell on that." He mimicked Charlie's hand movement to his own chest with a look of genuine wonder, "which part of this do you know, Charlie?"

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

more jason todd hcs because i said so!!! pt 2

or more like what was he doing at wayne manor when he wasn't busy being robin pt 1

back in crime alley, he’d go to the one library because it opened late and had air conditioning and heating (a luxury his own home didn’t have)

he’d read basically anything he could get his hands on

mostly he reads stories about fantastical adventures in far off lands, fighting monsters and saving the day

sometimes he read stuff like the little princess and prays that really will be him one day

so when he meets batman for the first time and he doesn’t get beaten up for stealing the tires but instead adopted? he can’t help but want to see where this goes

he tries so hard to make bruce not regret his decision

he makes sure to stay at the top of his classes, even when that means late nights studying in his room even after all of his training

he finds any newspaper articles that he can on robin and marvels at all of his feats

he reads true crime cases, even if they make his stomach churn, so he can improve his investigation skills

he trains until he retches on the floor, and then he cleans it up so as not to bother anyone and goes back to training

sure he acts all confident and happy but really? he knows that his current life was given to him by the whims of some rich guy and he could very well lose it all the next day

he stashed nonperishable food in his room, trinkets he’s been gifted that he thinks he could sell

but as the days go by and it seems like bruce has no intention of making him leave, and in fact he’s being treated almost like a son? it makes jason gain hope

the first time bruce asks him to come to a gala, jason is so excited he can’t sleep

he's stressing out over his suit (it's the first time he's ever worn one, much less had one custom made to fit him)

he checks up on it multiple times a day and will lowkey freak out if he finds a wrinkle (he won't because obviously it's alfred)

he's practicing how to tie a tie in the mirror perfectly

once he gets to the gala, he's buzzing from the nerves and excitement

will he feel out of place amongst all of these rich people who probably see him as a charity case?

sure, but the fact that he’s making a public appearance…surely this means that his stay at the manor will not be short-lived

he gets introduced as bruce’s adopted son and with each greeting he can’t help but puff his chest out just a bit more

as he wanders towards the punch bowl, he hears a group of ladies gossip about whether jason is actually bruce’s illegitimate child

it makes sense. they both have black hair, blue eyes, the same square jaw and heavy set eyebrows

he could probably correct them if he wanted to. but this is one rumour he doesn’t mind floating around

and that night, he has never been more grateful for the colour of his eyes

he thinks somewhere along the way he gets caught up in all of it

he lets himself get comfortable at the manor

he didn't have much in his room growing up. mostly because there wasn't anything to display to begin with, but also because they'd be evicted from their previous place so often, more belongings just meant more things to move

fills his room with personal trinkets. a dagger here, a mask there. he has photos framed. him meeting the justice league, with the titans, his first christmas at the manor (bruce has the same one in his office too)

i personally hc that some entrepreneurial gothamites have made bootleg batman and robin merch (actually is it bootleg if there's no official merch? who knows)

kind of like those i heart new york shirts with the local tourist spots on it

but it's batman lmfao

butttttttt i'm just imagining them coming across a dude selling chibi batman and robin merch while they're on patrol

and bruce hates it because like why is his head so big? why are his eyes so disproportionately large? does he have some sort of illness

but he notices how long jason's staring at them so he breaks the batsona for a bit to buy it for him

and jason has it on display in his room

imagine if they have one of those height markers in the house from when dick was still home

and then they add jason's and he can't help but stare enviously at dick's marking and wonders when he'll get there

alfred assures him he will be as tall as master dick one day, and they'll make sure to add it so that he "wins," as he so put it

unfortunately that day won't come. not because he doesn't grow taller than dick but by that point, it's too late

he has his own personal corner in the library

it's a cozy armchair that's just close enough to a window to get natural light while he's reading, but also close to the fireplace so that on winter days he's not freezing to death

it wasn't like that when he first got there. actually, the chair was much closer to the fireplace, where the rest of the furniture is arranged

but as time went on, he thought it'd be okay if he moved the chair just a littleeee bit more to the right. surely bruce wouldn't mind. and nobody ever said anything, so he'd move it bit by bit until eventually it was where it still is

it looks kind of out of place at this point. i mean, imagine a singular armchair way off to the side. but it's his spot and nobody moves it, even after he's gone

honestly, everybody else never really went into the library before or after, but whenever jason had free time, that's where he would be

he's just always there, even though he's been told that he's allowed to take the books around the house or to school if he wants

he's so careful with keeping the books safe, thinks it best that he leaves them in the library

he doesn't want to give them a reason to think he's a bother

he will bring a few books to his room, the ones he likes to read before he goes to sleep to wind down

i'm just thinking about the little reminders of jason todd scattered throughout the manor

the dining chair that's a little wobbly from the time jason tried to show bruce a trick

a burn mark on a wooden pan handle from the first time alfred taught him how to cook

a window pane that's not quite like the rest of them after he tried to copy dick's iconic quad flip

a bronze dog statue in a hallway because of course the waynes would own one. its head is shinier than the rest of its body from the times he would pet it

and sure, you could call it damage if you wanted to

but it's hard to think about it that way when really, those are some of the last reminders that he really was there

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[eldritchwh0rror]

🆅 🅴 🆂 🆂 🅴 🅻

pairing: True Form Sukuna x Reader

content / warnings: 18+, MDNI, !afab reader, !true form Sukuna, !submissive reader, !dominant Sukuna, general monster fuckery, size difference / size kink, degradation (Sukuna is meaaaan), (forced) intoxication, elements of non-con, asphyxiation, breath play, choking, hair pulling, spit / spitting, blood / blood play, thigh riding, throat fucking, cunnilingus, analingus, PiV, PiA, double penetration, rough sex, breeding kink, unprotected sex

synopsis: News that the King of Curses was seeking a new concubine had spread throughout the kingdom and even you couldn’t resist the temptation of finding out if the rumours were true.

word count: 6.1k

a/n: So... this is my first time writing in a long while and I'm pretty happy with how this came out - it is remarkably depraved. I hope you have just as much fun reading this as I did writing it! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated <3

You had sought a private audience with the King of Curses, and a private audience you were granted. Whilst you were thankful for the opportunity, you could never have anticipated the position you now found yourself in. If anyone were to enter the grand chamber, they would be faced with an outrageously sinful scene, one enough to make even the devil blush - had it not been the devil himself orchestrating things, of course. 

Ryomen Sukuna relaxed atop his throne, his broad upper arms crossed above his head with the lower set reaching down to anchor your trembling form in place. He had you straddling one of his thighs, your own thighs spread achingly wide to accommodate him, with your core flush against him. His grip was like a vice on your hips, jagged nails threatening to pierce the delicate skin barely covered by what tatters remained of your robe. Your far inferior size and strength made it pointless to even entertain the idea of trying to wiggle out of his grasp, so there you stayed.

Sukuna rocked your hips against him at an almost maddening pace, d r a g g i n g your cunt relentlessly against his leg over and over and over and…

“P-Please.” The word passed your lips as nothing more than a breathy whimper, but the desperation it carried seemed to echo throughout the throne room. 

“What was that, brat?” The Disgraced One chuckled harshly, a low rumble rising from his chest. “You will speak clearly when addressing me.”

“I, hnghh, wan’-” 

Smack!

Sukuna’s large hands had left their resting place behind his head, coming down to strike your ass - hard. The sound of the impact reverberates throughout the chamber, harmonising with your pained cry to form a sickening crescendo. The pain itself was instant, manifesting as a raw heat which tore through you to ignite each nerve in its path and set your body ablaze. Despite your almost palpable fear, your body had betrayed you. You were wet - soaking wet, in fact - your juices dripping from your cunt, rolling down Sukuna’s leg and pooling on the cold throne below. It was embarrassing, really.

“I said, speak clearly!” You feel his hot breath on your cheek as he practically growls the words in your ear. The sensation from the impact begins to subside as Sukuna kneads your cheeks, spreading them apart to expose you so obscenely. “Oh! Oh, I see.” Now aware of the mess you had created, he smirks. “Does this little brat want more from their King, hm?”

Despite his question, Sukuna didn't need a verbal response from you. Tellingly, your eyes trailed down his torso to focus on the throbbing bulge scarcely concealed by his robe.

“Please, m-my Lord, I need-”

“You don't need anything, mortal,” he hisses through gritted teeth. One hand snakes its way up your back to settle at the base of your skull, long fingers tangling in your hair, whilst the others move to continue the brutal grind of your hips. Sukuna manipulates your head backwards with a rough tug of your hair, fully exposing your neck to him. “As your Lord, if I tell you that you no longer need to breathe - that you no longer need to live - I would expect you to believe as such and act in accordance.”  Hovering over your jugular as he speaks, he punctuates his sentence by clamping down, the tips of his sharp canines penetrating the flesh with an excruciating sting. A deep groan escapes his throat as your scream rings in his ears. Humming against your skin, he drags his forked tongue languidly over the wound, his saliva mingling with the blood and slowly trickling down your neck.

You raise a shaky hand from its place on Sukuna’s chest up to your neck protectively, pushing his head away to assess the injury with your fingertips. “M-my Lord, y-you… bit me?” 

“It was necessary.” He nods to himself. “My saliva has properties similar to your human opium, you see. You will soon find yourself in a more… relaxed… state.” Sukuna flashes you a wry grin, his teeth stained with your blood. 

Panicked, your hands return to Sukuna’s chest to push yourself away from the curse.

“Now, now, y/n! Let’s just give it a moment to take, shall we? After all, you were the one who wanted to copulate with me, correct?” He shrugs. “I’m doing you a kindness.”

Your protests grow weaker as the seconds pass, firm shoves turning to dismal attempts at freedom. Sukuna’s cruel laugh echoes in your ears as your body fails you. 

_________________________________________

Disoriented and dazed, you wake from your drug-induced sleep to find yourself in an unfamiliar environment. As your eyes adjust to the dim candlelight of the bedchamber, you examine your surroundings. Laid atop a grandiose four-poster bed, lavish satin sheets were draped over your body and plush feather pillows supported your head. A rich and heady incense was burning somewhere, distributing thick plumes of its smoke into the air. It was the epitome of luxury and far from the servant’s quarters you were accustomed to. Was this Sukuna’s--? No, surely not! 

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” 

The voice startles you, tearing you from your thoughts, and your eyes dart around the room to find its source. Sukuna occupied a place in the far corner of the chamber, sprawling his large form across an armchair upholstered with fabric the same rouge as the sheets hugging your body. His features were illuminated so wickedly by the candlelight, shadows exaggerating the sharp contours of his face and exposed torso. He was such a beautiful monster. The sight alone was almost enough to make you forget all of the heinous crimes your Master had committed over the centuries - almost. 

“You were out for much longer than I anticipated you would be, y/n. I nearly readied Uraume to have you disposed of.” Sukuna shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, running a hand through his hair to slick back a few stray stands. “It seems my essence is particularly potent for you. I’ve not known anyone to have such a dramatic reaction - unconsciousness is certainly a first. You humans really are so amusing!” He laughs dryly, rising from the chair slowly to stalk across the room towards the bed - towards you - a hunter closing the distance between his prey.

“What was the point?” You scoff, clutching the sheets against your chest in an attempt to shield yourself from his predatory four-eyed stare. “As you said, I wanted this. You didn’t have to drug me to get me in your bed. I would have gone willingly, my Lord.” you admit, lowering your head to hide your shame. 

“Hah! Such a bratty mouth on this one!” He reaches down to your face, his thumb and forefinger gripping your chin firmly, craning your neck so that your eyes meet his gaze. Another pair of hands grab at your forearms, throwing them down to your sides and moving swiftly to cup your now-exposed breasts. “As I said, if we are to copulate, then it is necessary. Your puny mortal body could not withstand me, no matter how much you claim to want it, without the effects of the solution.” As he continues to explain, he pinches your nipples and toys with the supple flesh of your breasts, earning the occasional yelp from you. “My saliva contains my essence, you see, and soon you won’t be able to resist it. It exerts properties similar to opiates, including muscle relaxation and euphoria. It was not intended to render you unconscious, only prepare you for what is to come.” 

Your cheeks flush as Sukuna words register with you. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed!” He grins. “Now… Say ‘ah’!” 

The curse’s thumb moves with haste from your chin to your mouth, sparing a moment to trace the outline of your lips before forcefully parting them. He hooks your lower jaw, applying pressure to prise open your mouth for him. A sneer spreads wide across his face and his crimson eyes burn into yours as he spits once, twice, onto your unsuspecting tongue. He spits once more for good measure, this time deliberately missing to paint your lips and chin with his saliva. In the same instant, before you have a chance to protest, he withdraws his thumb and clamps your jaw shut with the brisk upward motion of his open palm. Leaving your breasts, a second hand reaches to pinch your nostrils closed and a third moves to cover your mouth. 

“Now, be a good pet and swallow for me, won’t you? Either that or die, I don’t care.” As he speaks, his free fourth hand caresses your cheek in a way which causes you to shudder in reaction. The touch was a complete juxtaposition to the words he hissed and the powerful position his other hands had taken - it was nothing more than a gentle graze sweeping down the left side of your face.  

You swallow hard, blinking away the tears forming as you struggle for your breath. Though you were expecting relief, Sukuna does not relinquish his grasp when you obey. Instead, he tightens it and uses the hold to manoeuvre you both further onto the bed. As he looms above you, your nails claw at his hands in a desperate attempt to remove them and take your breath back. Only once he had you positioned as he wished, pinned between his body and the headboard, did he allow your lungs the luxury of oxygen. You sputter as he withdraws and your breath returns to you in ragged huffs, your lungs burning at the sudden influx of air. 

Not wasting any further time, Sukuna swipes a clawed finger across your collarbone, causing a steady stream of blood to flow down your chest and drip off of your nipples to stain the sheets below. Sukuna laps up the blood greedily, already addicted to your sweet metallic taste, depositing more of the toxin into your bloodstream in the hopes of its effects taking hold quicker. 

Since the first exposure, your body seemed to have adjusted to Sukuna’s poison and you were already forming somewhat of a tolerance to it. With your body no longer wanting to shut down as a response, you feel more alive than ever. A strong euphoria courses through your veins as the substance electrifies every cell it infiltrates. 

With your pupils blown wide, you gaze up at the Disgraced One. Your yearning eyes study the handsome features of his face, pausing to focus on the strong arch of his lips. The drug had taken its effect and it was clear that you wanted - needed - more, a pout forming as you silently pleaded with the King of Curses. You tilt your head to rest against the headboard and Sukuna chases you back, his lips colliding with yours in a painfully lustful kiss. He snakes his forked tongue past your lips, angling your chin upwards with a bruising grip so that he can access more of your mouth. His tongue duels with yours, alternating between languid, sloppy licks and rough prods which are rewarded with your breathy moans into his open mouth. Maintaining the kiss, his upper arms move to pin your hands above your head whilst the lower set pulls you further down the bed, spreading your legs apart to better accommodate his size before resting either side of you to support his weight. 

So entranced by the kiss, at first you don’t realise when his second mouth, located just above his navel, awakens. Its tongue slithers out to pepper your stomach with wet licks and kisses, the pace matching that of the lip-lock above. You jolt at the unfamiliar sensation. Despite being caught off guard by Sukuna’s unique anatomy, you can’t help the whimper which falls from your mouth as you melt further into the demon, arching your back to raise your core up to him. Your hips instinctively begin circling as your lust deepens, thighs squeezing together to generate some of the friction you craved undeniably. 

“Feeling needy, are we?” His voice is low and husky against your lips. “Too bad.” He retreats from you abruptly, leaning back on his knees to observe as you begin to come undone, finally succumbing to him. 

“P-please, Sukuna,” you moan, honorifics forgotten as desire clouds your mind.

“Hah! That’s bold! My name does not belong on your tongue, brat.” He pauses, raising a hand to his jaw, the corner of his mouth curling upward into an lascivious smirk. “Though, I can think of at least two things which do.”

With that, he pushes himself off from the bed and stands to loosen the belt of his robe. The silk garment drops to the floor to reveal two handsome cocks standing erect and throbbing with need. One was situated an inch or so above the other and each boasted at least 10 inches. Both shafts were decorated with Sukuna’s signature tattooed bands. Their girth was unmatched and unlike anything you’d ever previously encountered. Fear was the first emotion evoked, followed closely by pure admiration, and your pussy clenches reflexively at the thought of its impending abuse. Your jaw slackens and your eyes widen to fully comprehend the image of Sukuna basking in the candleglow before you, his muscles rippling with each slight movement made. He was magnificent. 

Holding your gaze with his, he trails a hand down his torso, continuing lower to wrap his hand around and squeeze the base of his uppermost dick. He drags his white-knuckled grasp slowly along the shaft, precum leaking and falling from the tip to coat the cock below. After a few steady pumps of his fist, he brushes his thumb over the weeping tip to gather as much of the slick as possible, using it as lubricant to stroke each of his cocks in turn. His head lulls backwards as he begins to lose himself to the rising pleasure, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip to trap the groan emerging from his throat. 

Regaining control, his head snaps forwards, his eyes burning into yours.

“Now do you understand?” 

It was more of a warning than a question and all you could do was nod your head in response, bewitched by the show he was putting on for you.

Snapping you out of your trance, Sukuna raises two fingers and gestures to you in a come hither motion. “Crawl for me.” 

You move quickly to obey the command, crawling across the bed to the edge where you settle on your knees in front of your King. Though sat fully upright, you found yourself having to stretch further to be level with Sukuna’s hips. From your position below him, you glance upwards as you present him your tongue, eyes laden with lust and cheeks flushed. He recognises the offering, slowly dragging the tip of his lower cock across your flattened tongue and allowing the upper to rest against your face. One of Sukuna’s hands cradles the base of your skull and another guides his cock further into your mouth, whilst your own hands brace against his hips. You wrap your lips around his tip, applying a firm pressure as you begin to suck. Sukuna lets out a low hiss as you swirl your tongue around his tip, allowing yourself to taste the precum gathering there. With interlocking fingers, you clasp your hands around his cock, needing both to fully encircle his girth. You glide your palms along his shaft as an extension of your mouth with the excess saliva drooling from your lips acting as a lubricant. It was messy and it was hot.

Your hands and mouth work tirelessly to pleasure Sukuna but despite your best efforts, the King of Curses was getting impatient. He swats your hands away from his dick and shoves himself further into your mouth, pressing until his tip is met with resistance at the back of your throat. He makes small, quick circles with his hips, repeatedly prodding the back of your throat with his cock. You gag at each of his movements, coughing and sputtering in response to the invasion in an attempt to expel it. The lewd sounds spilling out of you only act to spur him on and Sukuna begins to buck wildly, pushing past the fluttering rings of muscle to fuck your throat relentlessly, each of his thrusts accompanied by a deep grunt. 

You are spared a moment to collect yourself as he withdraws from your throat, though your relief is short-lived. As the first cock leaves your mouth, Sukuna’s second cock immediately takes its place - ramming into your throat and almost bottoming out in one harsh thrust. Allowing no time for you to adjust, he continues to fuck your face, switching between each of his dicks at a frenzied tempo as he chases his high.

Tears which had collected finally spilled, rolling down your cheeks as you choke around him, your throat unable to tolerate the abuse. In an attempt to lessen the havoc being unleashed, you clench your jaw, forcing him to slow his movements.

In response to the act of defiance, Sukunas fingers twist in your hair, pulling your head away and ripping his cock from its position in your throat. With the same grip, he lifts you from your knees to bring your face up to his, your body dangling above the bed. “You ungrateful bitch!” He strikes your cheek with the back of his hand to emphasise the insult, his lower lip drooping to form a mocking pout. “I grace your mouth with my cocks and this is what I get, hm? Such a disappointment!”

Between ragged breaths, you plead with him - “Ss-sorry... I c-can’t-” 

“What’s that, brat? Oh, you can’t take any more?!” A sneer contorts Sukuna’s face and he tosses you onto the bed below as if you were nothing more than a discarded toy. “But we were only just getting started!”

You scramble to regain your composure, shifting into a position to easily flee the bedchamber. “I am sorry, my Lord. Please spare me.” You bow your head deeply in reverence, in the hopes that it won’t be separated from your shoulders. “I don’t intend to occupy any more of your time, my Lord. Please, dismiss me and I shall return to my usual duties.”

“Dismiss you? Hah!” Sukuna chortles and reaches a hand up to soothe his furrowed brow, pondering his next words. “Your duties can wait. At present, I have a much better use for you. You see, with the sorcerers of the modern age closing in, I must act quickly.”

“I’m sorry, Master, but I don’t follow.” 

“As a means to preserve my bloodline and my image, you will provide me with an heir.”

“W-what?” Your jaw drops in awe at his statement, the intoxicant previously clouding your judgement beginning to fade from your system.

“Do not make me repeat myself, mortal.” He warns, his expression hardening. 

“You-- I can’t! It’s not possible!” You panic, shaking your head violently in protest of his crude instruction as logic returns to you. “Why - why me?”

“Shhh, y/n.” Recognising your ebbing compliance, Sukuna coos manipulatively and caresses the side of your face in an attempt to calm you. Guiding you to lay back on the bed, he cages you underneath him. “This will work. We are compatible.” A dark mischief flashes in his eyes and he chuckles to himself - “Think of it as a promotion!” 

Pressing his mouth firmly to yours, he shoves his tongue past your resistant lips. Despite your initial repulsion to the kiss, your logical mind retreats once again as the endorphins rush in and force you back into a more pliable mindset. 

Sukuna’s lips leave yours to plant a bruising trail of kisses down your neck. He pauses when he reaches your collarbone, sucking along the wound he had made earlier. “Your scent, your taste - it’s intoxicating, y/n. The very moment you presented yourself to me, I knew I had to have you. I knew that I had to make you mine.” The King’s words are snarled against the crook of your neck in a deep baritone, raising goosebumps and causing you to tremble in exchange. Moving further down your body, the kisses transition into painful bites with bloodied indentations of the curse’s teeth left in your skin to serve as a reminder of his route. Forcing your legs open, he leans his head against your thigh to admire the view of your pussy, swollen and glistening with need.

“I am going to devour you, my dear.” 

Peppering kisses and nibbling along the inside of your thighs, Sukuna leans in closer for a taste of you. He drags his forked tongue along your cunt, licking a long stripe from the bottom to the top. Your lips form a lustful little “oh” as a breathy moan leaves you in response to his actions. He repeats this motion - this time parting your folds with his tongue, darting between them to tease your clit with a quick swipe. The stimulation causes your hips to jolt away from him involuntarily which displeases the King. To keep you from further escaping his mouth, Sukuna moves two arms to press your body down into the mattress and hold you firmly in place. Preventing you from closing your legs and depriving him of his nourishment, he pushes your knees apart with his elbows, keeping them there to pin your legs uncomfortably wide as he continues his meal. He proceeds to alternate between lapping up the entire length of your pussy and slipping between your labia to prod at your already sensitive clit. Sensing your pleasure building quickly, the tips of his tongue now move independently to each torment the bundle of nerves and drive you closer towards the edge. Moving a hand to work alongside his mouth, Sukuna presses a digit against your entrance, working it in small circles and spitting on your hole before sliding it inside you. After allowing you a moment to adjust - albeit barely - to the new sensation, Sukuna plunges another finger into you, curling his fingers upwards to repeatedly stroke your G-spot as his mouth continues to ravage your clit. 

“Ohh, f-fuck!” You find yourself driven into a carnal frenzy, bucking and grinding your hips in time with the curse’s movements to obtain your release. 

“That’s it, brat. Fuck yourself on my fingers.” 

With that, his lips return to your cunt to resume their brutal feast and the mounting tension finally snaps. You cry out your Lord’s name as you cum, your fingers wound tightly in his hair as you ride the waves of pleasure. You continue to grind yourself against his tongue and fingers until the orgasm dissipates. 

“Mmm. Just as I thought - you are delicious.” Sukuna lifts his head from between your legs, tongue lolling out to clean up the remnants of your arousal dripping from his chin. “Want a taste?” 

After you nod your reply down to him, Sukuna stretches a hand up to your mouth from his position below to trace your lips with his sodden fingers. Maintaining eye contact with the demon between your legs, you part your lips to accept his digits willingly, tongue lapping at his calloused pads to savour yourself.

“You’re being so compliant, look at you,” he praises as you eagerly suck his fingers clean. “I think you might just be ready for me.” 

Departing from your cunt with a chaste kiss, Sukuna scales your body to mount you. His four hands roam your flesh with a ravenous need, nails leaving a trail of bloodied crescents in their wake. His lower arms scoop underneath you to cradle your waist as he lifts your lower half from the mattress. The disparity between the positions of your upper and lower body causes your torso to contort painfully - not that he cared, of course. As long as Sukuna had full access to your sweetest spots and could fully drain his seed into you, nothing else mattered. 

Hunched over you, with two of his hands planted against the headboard, the King of Curses manipulates you into a tight mating press, practically folding you in half underneath him. His free hands had captured your wrists, planting them firmly either side of your head to both ensnare you further beneath him and to support his weight. 

You were completely at his mercy - and the great Ryomen Sukuna was not known for being merciful.

“I am going to enjoy this.”

With your hips aligned with his and his forehead coming down to press against yours, you sense something hot and wet unfurling between your legs. You let out a whimper, quivering in anticipation as Sukuna’s abdominal tongue rises and falls at your core, panting with need against your pussy. Slowly, so agonisingly slowly, the tongue licks the length of your cunt with the pressure increasing as it travels towards your clit. Moving without thought, your mind dripping with desire, you buck your hips in an attempt to press yourself harder against Sukuna’s tongue and claim your pleasure. Working itself between your folds as you grind feverishly against it, it slathers you with more of Sukuna’s sedative and works to prepare you for the oncoming intercourse. It clears away the remaining evidence of your previous orgasm in short, desperate licks. Each brush of the tongue against your sensitive bud earns an array of profanities and moans from you in equal measure.

Sukuna’s eyes burrow into yours as the tongue travels downwards, past your quivering pussy, to delve between your asscheeks and make its first contact with your anus. Much to Sukuna’s amusement, you jolt at the unexpected sensation and move to try and protect your dignity. 

“My dear,” he drawls as he pins your knees back into place. A wicked smile graces his face, perversity flickering in his crimson gaze as he stares down at you. “Did you already forget that I promised I would devour you, brat? I think we are long past the point of modesty, hmm? I never did care much for it anyway.” 

As he speaks, the tongue saturates your hole with more of Sukuna’s potency. Your body slowly moulds into his as you begin to relax and the endorphins take control. The pressure against your entrance increases and Sukuna’s tongue pushes inside with a lewd squelch, moving past any remaining resistance with ease thanks to the saliva’s relaxant effects. It was unlike anything you had felt previously and, although you were ashamed to admit it, it excited you. A pleasured moan drops from your lips which is met with a satisfied grunt from Sukuna as he continues to explore you. His second tongue moves in quick thrusts to fuck your hole and Sukuna kisses you hard - passionately, even. He kisses you with such an urgency it causes you to gasp into his open mouth. With coordination long forgotten as his lust deepens, his teeth clash against yours and your tongues tangle with each other in a sloppy dance. It doesn’t take long before you are faltering to his hungry mouths and falling apart once again. His arms tighten around your waist, steadying you as he guides you through your climax. Your empty cunt flutters as your orgasm surges through you, clenching at nothing as your sweet juices leak out to coat Sukuna’s abdomen.

Shifting his grip on your wrists to encircle both of them with one hand, he reaches down with the other to line his lower cock up with your entrance. Using the bliss from your ongoing climax to distract from the pain bound to accompany his size, Sukuna wastes no time in pushing his bulbous tip past the first ring of resistance and into your cunt. As he enters you, his upper cock nestles itself between your pussylips, laying there to throb against your clit. 

“Fffuuuck,” he rasps through gritted teeth, shuddering at the intensity as he penetrates you for the first time.

“Please, hnngh, it’s t-too much,” you whine. Though only Sukuna’s tip had entered you thus far, it felt as if you were being split apart. Pain and pleasure mingle confusedly together as the curse continues to navigate deeper inside you with no regard for your protests.

“Quiet,” he snarls. His tone turns to one of mocking: “I’m not even halfway in yet and it’s already too much for you to handle, slut? Hah, how pathetic!”

With the pressure and stretch increasing to an almost intolerable level, you thrash about underneath your King in an effort to lessen the ache, only worsening things for yourself in the process. 

“Quit moving, brat!” A hand wraps itself around your throat as a silent warning, a firm pressure being applied to your windpipe. He cocks his head to one side menacingly as he sneers down at you. “Or do you want me to give you something to really complain about, hm?”

You halt your movements in obedience, submitting to him. 

“There’s a good slut!”

Sukuna thrusts into you with sharp, shallow movements of his hips, each thrust more confident than the last, to bury his first cock inside of you. At this angle, as he slides himself into you, the dick pressed between your folds twitches against and prods at your sensitive bud. The pleasure generated is enough for you to persevere through the agony and please your King. Sinking deeper, Sukuna’s eyes widen with fascination as he watches the tattooed bands adorning his shaft disappear as your pussy bows and adjusts to swallow his length. Sukuna continues to press until his pelvis is flush against yours and his heavy balls are pressed against the fat of your ass. 

“Ooh f-fuuck, S-Sukuna-” It’s all you can manage as his tip plants a bruising kiss on your cervix, the sting causing your breath to hitch in your throat. 

Sukuna chuckles at the remark as he reels his hips back, dragging his thick cock along your tight walls until it is almost fully unsheathed from you. Although you were grateful that the stretch was somewhat alleviated, you found yourself immediately pining for the sensation of being full with your King once more. As if in agreement, your pussy flutters around him to try and drag him back further inside you. 

“P-please, ‘Kuna… Please fu--”

Sukuna slams back into you before you can even finish your request, pushing past the convulsing rings of muscle to fully seat himself inside. Bottoming out, his toned pelvis crashes against your own as he impales you on the full length of his cock. He takes a moment to admire your beauty as you writhe underneath him.

“You’re such a mess, my dear. If only you could see yourself as I see you now.” 

With that, he sets his brutal pace. He fucks you into the mattress relentlessly, his hand still clasped around your throat whilst holding his weight over you to maintain the cruel mating press. The chamber air grows heady, filled with the lewd sounds of sweat-soaked skin slapping, Sukuna’s guttural grunting and your unabashed yelps of pleasure. 

The curse’s merciless pace eventually begins to wane, his momentum faltering and his thrusts growing sloppier as he approaches the cusp of his climax. Realising and refusing to be bested after a meagre few minutes, he takes a moment to regain his composure. Sukuna withdraws from you in order to force down his orgasm and you are spared from the back-breaking position. You shift into a comfier position, leaning back on your elbows to see Sukuna leant back on his knees. Two of his hands were planted on his thighs, one crossed over his broad chest and the other moved to swipe away the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. 

“My, my, y/n. You really are perfect for me, aren’t you?” Sweeping back the strands of hair which had fallen over his eyes, he continues. “The way your tight cunt clenches around me is just… heavenly.” 

Flipping you over onto your front, his arms snake around your waist to lift you up and place you back down on your hands and knees. With his grip still present on your waist, he pulls your body closer to his so that his cocks are pressed against your slit from behind, twitching wildly with need. Rutting his hips like a beast in heat, he positions his lower cock to delve between your pussylips and the upper to move between your asscheeks to rub against each of your holes. He continues this until nothing but whimpers and almost incomprehensible begging for more leave you. Only then, when he deems you needy enough - undeniably cock-drunk, does he re-enter you. 

He stuffs his dick back inside your cunt and resumes the same maddening thrusts as before, as if he had never stopped. Sukuna's second cock drags itself along your ass, nestled between your cheeks, as he relentlessly drives into you from behind. Precum leaks from the upper cock’s tip in a steady stream to coat your rim, dripping lower to provide more lubrication for Sukuna’s assault on your pussy.

"N-no," you shake your head in protest, looking back over your shoulder, as you feel pressure against your hole. Sukuna’s second cock now sat poised at your entrance, threatening to plunge in. "You can't!"

His thrusts stop momentarily and he hunches over you, his chest pressing into your back. His voice was low and dangerous in your ear.  "I can and I will, y/n. You are merely a plaything for me, a vessel for my heir, and I will use you as I please. Do not challenge me again." 

Following his words, his hips ram into you violently, his second cock forcing its way into your tight hole to join the other already inside you, separated only by a thin wall. A strangled moan, tainted with both pleasure and pain, is ripped from your throat at the abrupt invasion. Your eyes roll backwards into your skull and your mouth hangs open in a fucked out little "oh" as your body begins to adjust. You were so full - full of your King - and the stretch was so sinful it was almost divine. This was true devotion to Sukuna and he recognised this with appropriate praise. 

"Look at you, taking both of my cocks so damn well! Quite frankly, I don't know whether I should be proud or disgusted." He chortles as he pounds against the fat of your ass, over and over, watching your flesh bounce from the force of each impact. 

His two cocks worked together to bring you your third orgasm of the evening. It was utterly indescribable, pleasure crashing over you in unrelenting waves. No-one, not even yourself, had managed to make you cum this hard, but the way Sukuna was fucking you had you seeing stars. The climax wreaked through you, your core quivering and contracting around the demon’s cock to bring him closer to his own release.

“F-fuuuck, brat. I’m gonna--” His hips falter and he struggles to hold onto what’s left of his sanity as your cunt practically milks him for all he’s worth. “You’re gonna take every last - hngh - fucking drop of my seed, yes?” 

You nod your reply up to him. 

“Use your words, y/n. Beg me for it. Tell me how much you want it.”

“Please! Please breed me, my King!” With your pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded, your gaze meets his as you plead. “Give me your heir!” 

With one final thrust and accompanying grunt, the King of Curse floods you with his seed. Both of his cocks spasm inside you as thick ropes of the cum plaster your womb and trickle down your fertile walls, forming a vulgar puddle where his hips were mashed into yours. 

Guiding you to lay down on your front, Sukuna collapses on top of you in exhaustion. His chest heaves against your back with his ragged breaths whilst he remains seated inside you. Confused as to why he had not yet relinquished his grip on you, you begin to struggle underneath his weight.

“Shh, shhhh, y/n.”  He coos in your ear, sweeping your hair out of the way to bury his face against the crook of your neck. “We have to make sure it takes.” 

You whimper weakly, nodding to show your understanding.

Whilst pondering his next words, a raucous chuckle leaves him which echoes through the chamber. “You’d better take this as an opportunity to rest up, brat. The night is young and I am not done with you yet.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monster Hunt: An Evil Without An End

Lady Talmere was a monster long before she rose from her grave, having taken to the recreational murder of commoners the way that others of her social class took to falconry or painting. Killing was a hobby for her, a privilege of her aristocratic birth that she could indulge while others were forced to work for a living. She chose her victims purely for the fact that it was easy to make them disappear: her country estates were far from prying eyes, her demanding nature excused the high turnover rate in her staff. She employed those with nowhere else to go, to hardworn by life to ask questions, and when complications did occur it was so easy to wriggle out of them by charming or greasing the palms of the local magistrates .

It was a true injustice that Lady Talmere died happy and of old age, moreso that her wretched spirit was not claimed by some devil and dragged to hell, instead rising some decades later as a mohrg. While most of her old self has rotten away, Talmere still possesses her love of killing and scene of digression, prefering targets that will go unnoticed. To make matters worse Talmere is now prone to reanimating her victims with the parasitic worm that makes up part of her undead corpus, simultaneously creating a new minion while getting rid of the evidence.

Adventure Hooks:

In recent weeks rumours are beginning to spread about the "Tattergaunt", a thing that wanders the night preying on lone travellers and isolated homesteads. The authorities are skeptical and have yet to post a bounty, suspecting beasts or even slavers given the lack of remains left behind. It's only when the party stumble into some of those remains on the side of the road, reanimated, worm bloated, and dragging another corpse that the picture becomes clear.

Talmere is having her zombie minions clean up after her, stashing away the undead that are about to slip out of her control in the hopes that no one will find them. Her choice of using isolated locations for these zombie stockpiles makes for a great random dungeon encounter.

The party may find themselves tasked with investigating a haunting at Talmere manor, inadvertently begun when the spirits of the lady's victims sensed that she'd risen. Unable to communicate through any means other than terrifying vision or violent poltergeist activity, the spirits long to be put to rest, and don't care how much they have to terrify or imperil the manor's mortal occupants in order to get that message across.

Challenges & Complications:

The old groundskeepeper served Lady Talmere in the final years of her life. Though he was only a boy he assisted the previous groundskeeper in all his tasks, which meant he also helped dispose of quite a number of bodies in the first few years of his employment. Riven by guilt and fear of punishment, he'll point the party in the right direction while keeping mostly to himself. However, Interrogating the old man or secretly leafing through his journals might provide the party a vital clue.

Though they want the haunting dealt with, Lady Talmere's descendants are just as prideful as any noble family and won't stand for their ancestor's honour to be besmirched no matter how true the accusations are. The party could make powerful enemies should they go blabbing about the old woman's crimes to the commons, or worse yet the local temple.

Likewise resistant to the investigation is the demon that's been lurking in the Talmere family estate for generations. It didn't corrupt the lady or drive her to violence, merely fed off the injustice of her kills and used it's power to ensure she was a little less likely to be caught. Every body burned to ash in the estate's furnace was a sacrifice on it's altar, and it seemed only reasonable to return the favour by seeding her body with the spark of unlife as she lay on her deathbed. If the party investigate well enough to disturb the demon they will soon find Lady Talmere's corpse knocking on the door of her own home with a small army of undead at her back, ready to massacre anyone inside, including her decendants, just for the thrill of it.

As her life (and subsequent unlife) suggests, Lady Talmere has a knack for escaping punishment. Any time she is slain, her mind transfers to another of her worm-animated undead, beginning a process of transforming it into a mohrg. As such she always keeps a few of her undead in reserve, scattered about the countryside or mixed in with those stockpiled zombies that've slipped her control. Once she's "settled in" to a new body she can start making more zombies provided she finds someone to kill, meaning unless the party stikes her hard and fast (ideally getting rid of her stockpiles before fighting her) she'll always be one murderspree away from cheating death again.

As she exists as an emboyment of moral and cosmic injustice, it seems only right that a weapon of true justice would be Lady Talmere's end. If they haven't already gone searching for divine aid, Midway through their troubles the party is approached by a temple scholar dedicated to the goddess Erathis, who has received a vision compelling him to help the party and lead them to a weapon wielded by a saint of the lawbearer herself. This might be as easy as swearing an oath on the saint's tomb, or as dangerous as tracking down where the stolen relic was hidden by the goddess's enemies.

(thanks @thirdtofifth for the monster stats)

Artsource

[slashingdisneypasta]

Jim Bickerman x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Plot: The search for riches (And fairytales) take him a little too close to death. Again. But this time the weapon is not teeth or claws or bullets out of a rival poachers gun- its a pretty, pretty voice. And pretty eyes. And pretty hair and the prettiest smirk he knows.

(*cough* it's a siren. And they look r e a l l y familiar.)

Warnings: A siren is gonna try to seduce and kill your husband Y/N, come get him-

Its freezing, the icy wind hammering your face even as you cross your arms across your chest and dip your head down; listening to Jim and Reba argue behind you. The boat buzzes under your feet, treading the salt water below as you race across from the docks and the little Greek village (And the room you were hoping to thaw out in tonight.), towards the spooky little island the locals warned you not to visit.

Because of course you have to go to the spooky little island the locals warned you not to visit. Of course.

Sure, it could be baseless rumours or a tourism gimmick, but the man directing the boat looks severe. Grim. A little scared, you think. And every legend has its roots somewhere- Jim said it himself. If its not a monster then it'll be something rare, and rare makes money appear like magic.

"My voice draws you to me. Under the sapphire waves I'll take you home. You'll love me, you'll rest forever in a dreamless sleep for me." Reba reads out loudly, over the sound of the motor and the waives; the card from the café you had breakfast at between her fingers flipping around crazily against the wind. She looks tired; she's always tired when she comes on a trip with you and Jim. Honestly so are you when you go on a trip with him with or without her. The old man somehow has more energy then the two of you do, for sure. At least when it comes to money. Conveniently, when you need the motel room tidied up- he's too old, and his joints are stiff, and he needs a nap. Sure grandpa.

... she keeps coming, though. And so do you, so are either of you much better?

"This sounds like garbage to me." She keeps going, handing the card back to Jim.

You approach the two of them then, offering your hand to Jim so he'll give you the card and you can read it over yourself. You agree, it looks hokey, but it can be both gimmick and true,.. you suppose...

Beside you Jim is clearly feeling the cold, too, pulling the beanie he'd bought earlier further over his ears. You watch his breath turn into fog before he talks; speaking as loudly as Reba. "Lady, I'm telling you its worth a shot. A guy at the bar last night said he'd seen it lotsa times. Now, he wasn't so good with English, but I think he called it a manatee. So- a mermaid, maybe."

"Oh god Jim you're gonna get us arrested. We are not hunting a manatee!" You groan/cry, the first words you've said since you got on this cold old motor boat. "Natures sweetest creations!!"

"No, no, listen- " When he turns to you there's a more beseeching look on his face then when he spoke to Reba. After all Reba is never going to sleep with him. He HAS to answer to you. "Listen, sugar, we're just gonna look around. I swear- if y'see one little manatee, we'll go back to the room. I have a feeling, though."

You give him a withering look, figuring out if he's sincere. He usually is, though. With you. So you sigh, and hand him back the card. ".. Fine, but its not gonna be a mermaid."

Jim's face drops into a grim and unconvinced look, and Reba perks up. "See!- "

"If its anything, this is a siren." You say, matter-o-fact, as he takes the card. Reba gives a sigh, and rubs her temples as a slow grin spreads across Jim's face again; pleased and cocksure.

"You heard her, miss fish and game," Reba rolls her eyes so far upwards they almost disappear into the back of her skull. Jim tucks the card away into a pocket. "We're doing this."

"-which is particularly dangerous for you, Jim." You add, your eyebrows knitting together.

"-how's that?"

"Oh yeah, siren's go after dudes, generally. Don't they?" Reba asks, and you nod, looking to her. "'Specially horny bastards." A vitriolic grin tugs across her lips, picking up the flask she brought to keep warm and taking a swig. "... So I guess you're the ideal target, huh?"

"Hey- "

You pat Jim on the shoulder. Give him an awkward look, like, 'mhm, yep'.

"Fresh meat." A grin twitches at the corner of your lips, remembering how he'd called you that before.

~

For the rest of the boat ride, Reba continued to tease Jim. That was just their relationship, so you didn't think much of it, just sat down in the back of the boat where the little dingy roof was. You were hoping that it would give you a break from the harsh icy wind, but it did not.

You took out your phone to scroll Pinterest for a bit, but there wasn't any data connection. "Rats."

When you finally got to the little tiny, unkempt dock on the island, the captain of the little motor boat who has been totally silent for the rest of the ride, told the 3 of you that he would be back in an hour- no earlier. He'd wait 5 minutes and if he doesnt see a sign of you then he's leaving again. He gave the waives a dark, cautious look- then turned the boat around and went back to the mainland.

"... spooky for no reason. Great." Reba comments, sarcastic, and obviously a little disturbed. Not enough to feel scared, she's as fearless as Jim is (At least outside of crocodiles), but definitely unsettled. Giving a nod, you turn on your flashlight. "Feels like we're in an episode of scooby doo, don't you think?"

Jim wasn't listening, focused solely at the water. Listening to it. Fully in his element. So when he says you should all split up, you consider that a bad, albeit funny, coincidence. Reba shakes her head, and wanders off. "Sure thing, Fred." She mutters, disappearing into the dark.

You touch his shoulder, before heading off yourself in the other direction, following the thin beach that was more pebbles and rocks then sand. "Goodluck!"

"Be careful for me, sweetheart." For a moment he tears his gaze away from the water, catching your smile before you disappear into the dark too.

~

Jim is still watching the ocean, daring something to come out, his hand on the gun at his side- when you come back not 10 minutes later.

Your appearance catches his attention immediately, watching you come slowly out of the darkness with a confused frown spreading across his face. Wasn't your hair different before? What happened to your jacket?, why aren't you wearing it? Its below 30 degrees out tonight. Why do ya look a little... wet? The tips of your hair dripping with seawater and your clothes sticking to you like a second skin.

But you flash him a smile, and he hears... music. Quiet, haunting music, coming from the direction of the water, almost like it's coming from the mainland or something. Far away. And all of a sudden everything is alright; You hadn't said anything, oddly quiet, but everything was fine. Maybe you're not cold. Maybe you tripped and fell in the water.

He's forgotten about what he was doing, what he was waiting for, what he's doing here. He can only think about you. "Shit, Y/N, what happened??" He chuckles, nervously. When you reach him, still not saying a word but with that sweet smile, he's taking off his own coat and pulling it around your soggy shoulders. He's cold, the wind chills him to the bone and his teeth immediately start to chatter. "You tripped or s- somethin'?"

... you just give a shrug, and smile again. Apparently you didn't know what happened to you. ... which is odd-

-Or, or maybe the sweetheart was just embarrassed. Thats fine, he wont push you.

With deft fingers, you pull his coat closer around you and you just looks so damn cute. He couldn't imagine taking it back, even though he was starting to not feel his fingers anymore. He's had worse, anyway.

... When you lean up and give him a gentle kiss, he forgets all about his icy fingers. And your lips are wet, and cold, but he cant bring himself to care about any of that either.

After he responds well, you give him another kiss; a deeper one; parting your lips against his and softly stroke his tongue with yours. Vaguely he thought this was Different; you usually didn't like to get into it with him on a job. You didn't wanna make it weird for anyone else you were with. But he would never complain about a few kisses from you.

They warmed him up. Should he be cold right now??... His skin feels boiling hot all of a sudden. That haunting music coming from the mainland gets louder, too, the humming voice seeping into his head and making him feel all... comforted. A little inexplicably anxious, but Safe so long as he's Here. With you.

When you pull away theirs a wicked smirk on your pretty face looking up at him. He recognises the smirk; at least he thinks he does.

He knew what it meant.

Next thing he knows, you're on the ground, on your knees, your jeans gettin' all muddy digging into the rocks and the grainy sharp sand. You don't seem to care at all, though, you're so calm. Which makes him Think. Are you alright? You seem off. Maybe he should-

He never even finishes that thought when your fingers, which he can see now are tinted blue at the tips and are dripping water as if you just raised your arm out of the bath tub, slip around his boots. You're lookin directly up at him from tucked between his legs; that demons smirk so pretty on your lips. You bat your eyelashes ever so softly, though.

"Jim... " Your voice for the first time since you came back to him. Or is it your voice? Its coming out of your mouth, your pretty face, but something is immediately off about it. Kindof echoey, like the two of you are in cave which- you're not, but-

Doesn't matter. Does. not. matter. As soon as the tip of your nose makes contact with his thigh, nosing ghostly cute against his jeans, still looking up at him like That, like you head's nothing but sin, all the thought in his head flickers off again. Whatever it was, it wasn't important. Could'nt've been. Nope.

~

Its not until the music gets louder again, like its playing directly in Jim's ears now, that sense truly starts to fight back. Something here is not. right.

Why the hell are you on your knees when Reba's just around the corner? Thats not like you; thats not like his Y/N. And the music's too loud, makin' his ears buzz and ring. Causing a shooting pain to crack across his mind.

The woman who looks like you notices that her spell is beginning to lose its effect, and gracefully stands up again in one fluid motion; even closer to him, pressed up against him. Silent. His coat slipped off your shoulders to thump in the dirty sand and all of a sudden there's not an article of clothing on you. Cold, slippery fingers go around his face. ... a grim frown stretches across Jim's face. Goddamnit.

"Jim... " That haunting voice. Its just like the music. Jesus Christ- The witch pouts your lips, and y'look so sad. Your eyes so round. "What's wrong??... I'm all yours right now,.. " She tilts your head to the side, sliding your hands down his arms to his hook- and his hand. On his gun. "Don't you want me??"

He knows its not you now. He knows it. But he still cant move- an invisible force holds him completely still. He cant get away from the monster that looks like you; is using you against him. The HELL is he supposed to do?? Shoot you????

Your fingers draw hearts on the back of his hand, watching his face so so intently; waiting for him to fall back into it.

... but he wont.

He's a little tougher then that. A little tougher then Reba thought. He's gotta be.

When suddenly he raises his arm, the creature jumps away from him like a frightened cat. Or a wisp. He's pretty sure he heard a hiss. It's far enough back now either way, that the butt of Jim's rifle held right out- just brushes your cheekbone.

"Back... off... " He growls, through grit teeth.

... a downright evil smile slips across your pretty face. But no fear. No fear at all, despite the panicked tone in the siren's voice. "But Jim!- "

The voice doesn't even sound like you anymore. More a nasty, water warped version of it.

"Shut up."

The evil look on your face turns miserably dark. Terrible ugly hatred shines off of it that you're almost unrecognisable until he realises 'you're' gone. All thats left is a naked woman he's never seen before, looking at him like he's filth. Rotten. Now, some men like when the pretty girls are mean to 'em. He's not one of them. "Oh you're a s t u p i d old fool."

"Yeah." Its a lot easier to pull the trigger when its not his sweet girl's face looking back at him. A loud BANG! shatters the sound of the music all around him; leaving only the sound of the wind whistling in his ears.

And the monster's gone- until he feels a presence at his back. Jim's about to turn and just try again-- but the voice speak up again. "Fine. Be that way, see if I care. I was only hungry."

Then the presence disappears entirely, and stays gone. After a few moments and Jim is sure she's gone for good, he lets out a huff of a breath. Part relieved he lived, part pissed he's not getting paid. And really fucking cold. Where'd that damn jacket go-

~

When you really come back around, he knows it's you because you're talking to Reba, and there's no more music. You must have met each other on the other side of the island. You flash him a smile. "Hey, did you see anything?" When you get a good look at him, though, hunched over on a rock with mucky jacket and a grim look on his face, your soft smile falls a little; a concern in your eyes. Oh he's gotta look a wreck right now. "... What happened to- oh- "

You recognise the look in Jim's eyes when he gets closer and let him kiss you; drawing your arms around his neck like its the most natural thing in the world which at this point it is, and only becoming more confused with the close contact. What's- is that- how is he hard!??-

What on earth has he been doing out here. Is he okay???

You attempt to ask him just that when he has to breath, mist between you from all the hot air and the cold wind, a husk in your voice from the kiss, and your eyelids half-hooded hazy with being kissed like That, but- "Oh- " He kisses you again. Okay. You'll just wait this out, then.

A few more kisses and he finally has to take a break. A crooked, wilted grin tugs across your mouth. "... what was all that for??"

"Yeah, I'm disturbed." Reba pipes up from a little further away, having wondered off during all of That. She's opening up her gun and counting her bullets.

"Uhh... " Jim looks awkward, like he's clearly unsure whether to tell the truth or not. "Heh. I'll tell ya later. Lets get outta here, hm?"

You tilt your head to the side, confused. "I thought you wanted to find the sirens, though?"

"Nope, not anymore." He shakes his head, hooking his prosthetic-arm around your waist because Fuck No he's not putting down his gun, and walking you towards the dock. "Silly idea. Wanna go back and get cozy with you in the room, okay? Whadaya say? Lets go. Where the hell is that creepy bastard with the boat, now??"

You share a look with Reba. You both know he's acting odd. "... Jim, are you sure?"

"Oh yeah. Yeah." He nods, t o t a l l y certain. "Also you're gonna haveta sit on my lap on the way back sweetheart, to hide the tent. You know the drill, heh."

"... uhuh."

Now Jim watches the water like its infested with crocs. You look, too; and see a glimmer of something shiny down there catching the moonlight; hear a teasing hum in the air that may or may not be imagination. His face is pale and he looks sick, though. You don't know why just now, whether its something to do with the dark murky waters or something else entirely (Though you do have your suspicions); you just know you need to wrap your arms around him. Bury your face in his shoulder, make sure he can feel that you're real and right there.

"... remind me t'not go chasin anymore fairytales, sweetheart."

[morganaspendragonss]

when does the reason become the blame?

i was a casual listener of epic until thunder saga came out and then my spotify wrapped speaks for itself. figured i should finish this before ithaca saga epic: the musical | odysseus/penelope | 1044 words | ao3 general audiences, warning for mentions of war, blood and infanticide created for @anyfandomgoesbingo prompt: “How do I make you love me again?”

“Odysseus,” she says to him that night as he lies next to her in the dark, muscles coiled tight under tanned skin, so stiff he could be part of this bed he built for them. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t blink, doesn’t turn to embrace her.

“Odysseus,” she says again. “There have been…rumours. Stories.” Every night in fact, from the lips of some poet or musician come to tell her of her husband’s exploits these past twenty years. At first, they were songs of praise for their king and his cunning with the horse, songs of the glory Ithaca would soon be bathed in when he sailed home.

Lately, they are songs to convince her that he is dead, run afoul of the gods or monsters, or even just a man. Once, that thought would have been preposterous, treasonous even. Ithaca’s great king, killed by a man. But it has been twenty years and none of them have been able to tell truth from poetry for a very long time.

Penelope thinks to the blood which even now is still being scrubbed from the marble of the banquet hall, and she thinks to what they sing about this man who claims, who has proven himself, to be her husband.

“They say…Hector’s son.”

This prompts a reaction, his body curling slightly in on himself. Still, he does not look at her. “It was war.”

“Yes,” she says quickly, because she has told herself that same thing many times. But Penelope is also a mother. “Was there no way…”

“It was war,” he repeats, more firmly, just as hollow. Then he sighs and seems to wilt a little, the sheets rustling as he shakes his head. “It was the will of the gods.”

How many times has he said that, she wonders. How many times did they all say that, out there on the Trojan shore? How many times was it true?

It does not matter now. Penelope reaches out and touches his arm lightly, fingers finding new scar tissue, relearning this body she once knew so well. “You are a good man, Odysseus,” she tells him. “A great man.”

He tenses again under her touch, but he does not shake her off. There are no more words to be said tonight, that much is clear, so Penelope leans over and kisses his cheek, then, for the first time in twenty years, lies down to sleep next to her husband.

*

It becomes a ritual for them. At night, in the dark and the quiet, when no one else is around, Penelope asks and Odysseus answers. The truth comes out in fragments, as threads for Penelope to weave together night after night, and to unravel again to fit in each new line. She is practiced in this art, and ever so slowly, night after night, the tapestry begins to form.

“Not one of them died during the war. I was so proud, I did not think…”

“We came so close. I was blind.”

“She wanted… She tried… But I promise, my love, I did not.”

Some conversations are shorter than others; Penelope does not press when Odysseus’s voice runs out, when he stops mid-sentence and refuses to utter another word. These talks are too important for them both to risk – for her, to know, for him, to heal. To be her husband during the night, and Ithaca’s king by day.

Still, the night cannot heal all things. She finds him one day standing upon a balcony, looking down to where their son trains in the courtyard. Her own heart clenches to see him, this boy that she raised, grown so strong and so capable in so short a time. She owes Athena so much, but it is a debt she is loath to pay.

“He is a man now,” Odysseus murmurs, not turning to look at where she stands by his shoulder. “I have missed so much.”

“And there is plenty yet to witness. He is so much like you, Odysseus.”

Odysseus’s expression darkens and he turns away from the window. “For all our sakes,” he grits out, “let us hope that is not true.”

She is left, confused, in his wake. She would not deny that the man who returned is not the same man who left, but she cannot see, even after all he’s told her, why such a thing should be so terrible. Certainly, Telemachus would not think so.

“He idolises you,” she tells him that night.

And Odysseus tells her of the infant and the sirens and Scylla, his eyes full of shame and regret, and when he is done Penelope tilts his chin up and kisses him.

“You are too hard on yourself, my love.”

*

On the last night, when he is done telling her how Polites was the first to die, and Eurylochus the last; on the last night, when the tapestry of the last twenty years is complete. Odysseus falls to his knees on the marble floor, head bowed and clutching at her skirts. 

“You have to know,” he says. “You must know. Everything I did, everything I became, it was all for you. It was all to get home to you and our son.”

Penelope waits, at the declaration, for her share of the guilt to appear. Six hundred deaths on Odysseus’s shoulders, and now hers too; six hundred young Ithacan men, six hundred families deprived of their husbands and sons, and it is their fault because Odysseus refused to let go.

She should feel guilty, as he clearly does.

But she does not. She cannot. She mourns, yes, but she will not be sorry that her husband came home, that her son has his father again. She will not be sorry for housing 108 men for years, knowing what would happen to them when Odysseus came home. 

If Odysseus is a monster for everything he’s done, then Penelope is one too. And she is not sorry.

Odysseus looks up at her, desperate, pleading. “How do I make you love me again?” he asks, voice breaking.

Penelope simply smiles and draws him to his feet, her hand rising to rest against his cheek. “Oh, Odysseus,” she says, shaking her head. “We both know you could never make me do anything.”

[cosmogone-spectacles]

I, for one, would definitely be interested in learning about your flondon main, if you're willing to share

Oh, I suppose I can go ahead and share a tad... presuming my poor, skittish heart survives the ordeal. ^_^;; +++

"D. T. Oversol, Silverer. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

(Portrait by my good friend Cheru at @cheru-art-time!)

Primary Skills: Persuasive / Dangerous; Glasswork / Artisan of the Red Sciences

Feel free to send a calling card! Lengthier character introduction beneath the cut. +++

Mr. Oversol (or Oversol, as he is commonly referred – he seems rather particular about sharing more than the initials of the rest of his name) is an immensely private individual. Whilst he is semi-commonly present at a variety of high-society events, and, of course, the occasional apocalyptic threat to London, he always seems to subtly direct conversation towards topics related to others rather than himself. This aire of mystique, as some have put it, is only furthered by the bombazine-dark veil he has not been seen without in many a year. ...In fact, one might note, he wears black gloves, too, and a high-collared shirt, and even dark spectacles beneath hat heavy veil... God forbid one foregoes manners enough to ask about all the pomp directly, of course. High society leaves little room for such straightforwardness. A silverer by trade, his services are peculiarly difficult to obtain. First comes the mere challenge of locating the blasted man, should you not find yourself fortunate enough (or, em, unfortunate enough?) to be inundated with party invites. Oversol's offices lie somewhere in the twisted back-streets set about the foot of the Bazaar, and the longer one searches the clearer it becomes he may not want it to be found. Does he even have clientele? And why, for goodness sake, is a silverer rumoured to turn away all of the Bohemian-and-creative sort? Truth be told, Oversol is a bit of a hermit – mostly due to a displeasure with rowdy environments, a few too many suitors, and a healthy appreciation for his own privacy. This most certainly has nothing to do with a rising paranoia that has grown steadily over his years in the Neath, and irrational fears over what exactly some unsavory party might do with information on his good self. He makes true companions exceptionally slowly due to this, and finds himself primarily in the company of one Dola Hallowrove, monster hunter (@peliginspeaks), and a Captain-Correspondent Ren Haarsink (@indefinitely-sealed). —Er, perhaps not the latter. Not at current. Not after recent events. Regardless of the man's paranoid tendencies, and resulting stiff public face, he is exceptionally warm and loyal to those he considers his trusted and beloved few. They, of course, are welcome at his office any time of any day (set just beneath his lodgings, in fact; both are decorated in expensive fashion, yet stay within the line of good taste), aside from the middle of his appointments, and may even be allowed knowledge of his dear young daughte– ahem, feline companion, Boo. Sure, his gifts tend to be inordinately and unnecessarily expensive, and he will most certainly refuse a romp through Prickfinger or any other destination lacking a proper road, but you can always count on him to lend a good ear and as many perfectly-steeped cups of tea as you'd like. (Oh, ah— One last little thing. You would be well-advised not to allow him inebriation; he's a nasty rash streak with a little alcohol in his system. Last time he took drinks at a bar, he ended up across the zee on Gaider's Mourn daring pirates to most unreasonably dangerous competitions. Ghastly, that hangover was. Ghastly, and awfully zalty.)

('Portrait' by me, on MSpaint with mouse, because my tablet is broken.)

[jacaela]

The thing with the headcanons that constantly gets on my nerves is the hypocrisy and the double standards.

So Daemon does two BASIC human things - gets a doctor and carries Laena's corpse to bed - and she's suddenly his true love, his favourite wife yada yada yada.

Like, this man was equally decent to his first wife, Rhea. No matter how much he notoriously disliked her and the marriage was enstranged, he still had the common decency to go and put her to rest, like any noble man would. He even reffered to Rhea as "my lady wife" after he famously asked for a divorce from her to marry Rhaenyra. Does this mean Rhea was the love of his life as well?

But Daemon staying always with Rhaenyra when she took to her bed (which WAS very much rare for a husband to do), him making sure it's always safe for her, him being attentive, him being described as "her prince", was what? A false game? An act? Same with his courtship for her - which, let's be honest, Daemon went out of his way to woo her like he did with no one else. Him doing all those activities with her - when it's clear they had so much fun together - was what? Torture for him?

Him being married to her for a decade with no rumours or a trace of scandal, simply being happy together, simply expecting another child together when the war broke, was only him "tolerating" her?

It's so obvious they hate Rhaenyra so much they are willing to invent things just to feed their own agenda. For them Daemon is an angel when he's with Laena and Nettles, but an absolute monster with Rhaenyra. Which is not at all what the canon tells us, but a very strange phenomenon from her antis.

I think they're just fatphobic (ps: rhaenyra grown stout and thick of waist. I have never seen them draw canon helaena - plumper than most Targaryens, and less striking as well. I wonder why ) In their minds, such women cannot be loved romantically, they can be only used. Plus, don't forget about the stereotype of "fat evil woman" .

Before the show, only a few green fans would say Daemon tolerated Rhaenyra. But the fact remains that they conceived a child two minutes after Laena's death and married five minutes later, despite Viserys threatening to disinherit Rhaenyra. Daemon never got involved in politics, he was only an advisor - sometimes Rhaenyra agreed with him, sometimes she didn't. When she din't, he never threw a tantrum. He had 100000 chances to kill Rhaenyra and her eldest sons and rule in Aegon's name, but he never did... he dgaf about the crown, he cared of Rhaenyra. They hate her, so they hate her happy marriage. is there some drama about Daemyra on twitter again?

[keepthedelta]

I read somwhere that rosberg was an antivaxxer???

so i think this is yet another thing about nico that is an incorrect fandom assumption. i had an ask about this before and was informed by another anon (i couldn't tell you how reliably) that nico got the first covid vaccine, and before he could get the second one caught covid and was advised not to get the second one at that time for medical reasons. nico made a comment about his specific situation somewhere, i think it's the monster antibodies comment, and that has gone through the fandom rumour mill and been turned into him being an anti-vaxxer.

generally speaking nico is a very scientific and fact based person, and while intelligent and educated people are not immune to antivaxxer rhetoric (pun not intended) it doesn't seem especially consistent with his character. so overall i don't think it's true

[xxlady-lunaxx]

What did I do..? | {KokuZan}

Theme: Angst

Note: Ignore the picture i can't find any kokuzan ones ;-;

TW: suicide-

ALSO if anything doesn't make sense it's bc i was too lazy to write out the AU so, sorry..

Reincarnated everyone! (basically it's modern AU; reincarnated hhahahoksmvfewoifkmsssddddffffffffuck.)

As a child, Muzan was very easily manipulated. He believed everyone deserved second chances and said, whenever someone did something they shouldn't have—no matter how drastic the consequences—that everybody made mistakes. Which, as you can see, is quite a naïve way of thinking when it comes to reality. 

What's more, Muzan tried to be very helpful. No matter what anyone asked, it was almost guarenteed to be that he would say yes. 

You could ask him to do the most far-fetched thing that any sane person would say they couldn't do and he would most likely say, "I'll do my best to achieve that for you."

So, he was often—very often—asked to do things for others. And he let them, not seeing anything bad about it. He only saw that he was making it easier for others to live and so he continued on doing this.

The only exception to his agreeing was his friend—more specifically Michikatsu, Douma, Akaza, Hantengu and his many brothers, Gyokko, Gyutaro, Daki, Nakime and Kaigaku. They were the some of the only people who cared—truly—about Muzan and who constantly protected him as much as they could from people who tried to use him to their own will. 

Muzan didn't notice any of this though. But he did know that they were people who would stick by him no matter what—something he was absolutely grateful for and told them everyday. 

Michikatsu—also known as Kokushibo within their circle of friends—being the eldest always treated all of them as his younger siblings, telling them to do this and that and making sure they were intact and alright. 

All but Muzan whom he treated more as a very close 'friend.' 

Everybody else could clearly see the favortism written all over Muzan's face whenever Kokushibo was around, and they let it be. 

Muzan didn't notice that either, however.  

Now, as the time went on, things began to change. 

True, Muzan had never been in the center of attention for selfless reasons and had always only been because people wanted to take advantage of him, but now a rumour had started passing by and Muzan started getting dirty looks from people he didn't even know.

Muzan grew scared to be outside at all as someone would hiss at him that he was a horrible man, that he'd done nothing but bad. 

He didn't understand.

And neither did his friends because they had never known Muzan to do anything bad. 

One day, one particular person had gone up to Muzan. She looked stern and very mad, dragging two other women with her. 

"Do you remember me, Kibutsuji?" she said, glaring into his eyes. She was shorter than him, looking to be almost 5 feet whilst Muzan was at 5"6 at around the age of 16. 

"No...?" he said uncertainly. 

The girl then made one of the other people stand in front of him. They looked to be siblings, this new woman appeared to be older. She had pink eyes that Muzan decided would probably looking pretty if it weren't for the fact that she was looking at him as if he was going to kill her. 

"What about her? Do you remember her? This is my sister Kanae," the first girl said, peeking from around Kanae's shoulder. "You and your little Uppermoon friends killed her." 

Muzan looked around for some help but his friends were out somewhere and all around them were only people whispering and glaring at him. "She's alive though..." he pointed out, averting his eyes. What were they talking about?

"Oh really," the girl said. "Listen, both of us were Hashira in our past lives. Both of us died from the same demon. From the same demon you created. You had millions of people killed just so you could be immortal!!" She placed a hand on her hip, her eyes searing into his head. "You are a monster. You deserve to go to hell." 

The last girl who hadn't been been introduced was fidgeting with a coin, but at this she slipped around the other two and said, her voice both equally quiet and angry, "I hope you life is it's own hell for all you ever did to all of us."

Muzan backed away against the wall. "I didn't do that! I... don't know what you're talking about! I swear! You have got me mixed up!!" he said, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening. He'd only ever helped people! What did they mean?

"Hmm, maybe you've got it all mixed up," the first girl said, letting her hair down and showing him her clip which was in the shape of a butterfly. "Look at this. And go find your blond friend—Douma. Tell him if butterflies have any sort of significance to him. I'm sure they do because you turned him into a demon. And then you let him go and eat so, so many humans. The butterfly should be a reminder to him of who killed him." 

Muzan blinked. "Douma? Douma would never do that! He's very kind!" he insisted, crossing his arms. They could talk bad about him all they wanted but now about his friends!! 

"Hmm, kind? Not a word I think of when I think of him. But maybe he was. Maybe he was kind and you turned him to the opposite," the girl said, giving him a cruel smile before stalking away, her hands clasped around the two other girls'. 

The whispers around him grew and someone shouted, "I heard he was a cannibal!!"

Muzan shook his head. "I wasn't! I'm not!"

"My grandfather said his mother's father's mother had fought one of his demons!"

"I don't have demons," Muzan pleaded. 

"I heard he called himself a demon king," someone else said. 

The people seemed to rise up all at once, shouting incoherent threats to him.

They closed in on him and Muzan cowered, feeling terrified. What if he had done all of that? People were to be trusted and he knew that they wouldn't lie about this, right? They must be telling the truth... What if he was such a horrible person after all?

A hand clasped around his wrist and he looked up, dread filling him for a split second. But then Kokushibo's familiar face met his gaze and he stood, being dragged out of the crowd quickly.

"Muzan!!" Kokushibo called back between quick breaths as they ran off. "Are you okay?"

Muzan thought for a moment as they ran and didn't answer until they stop. "Do you think I'm a horrible person like they said I am?" he asked, his voice meek.

Kokushibo narrowed his eyes. "Do I think?" he asked, sounding furious.

Muzan closed his eyes, scared of a reaction. He'd never felt so small before.

"Of course I don't!! You're my best friend! You would never do all that shit!" Kokushibo said.

Muzan opened his eyes to see his friend looking worried and exasperated. "You... don't think so?"

"No!! And even if all what they said is true, it's definitely not about you. They probably got the wrong person." Kokushibo sighed, hugging him tightly. "You worry me, Muzan. Maybe you should just stay at home."

Muzan's cheeks flushed at the physical contact—lately, something about Michikatsu had been making him quite... happy. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice muffled by Kokushibo's shoulder.

"Anytime. Want to go to the library? No one's allowed to shout there so we can have some peace and quiet," Kokushibo said, grinning.

Muzan nodded. "Okay."

~~~

At the library, Kokushibo started roaming the shelves looking for books he might want to read.

Muzan, on the other hand, couldn't get his mind over what had happened earlier. About everyone shouting at him, that is. Not with... with Kokushibo.

He immediately shook his head. No thinking about that now. 

He searched through the rows of books until he saw the sign titled, "History."

Here he might find some answers. If he'd done something like this before and had caused people to react like that there must be even a little information about it somewhere here.

After searching through the books, finding a lot of things about everything he didn't want to know about, he found a book with a paper taped onto it that said, in hastily written letters, "May be proclaimed as History and not Historical Fiction." which was interesting enough for Muzan and he quickly took out the book.

He sat down on the floor, not really caring about anything, as he opened the book.

On the spine of the book cover, there were the words, "Demon Slayer" on it, along with the name of the author. (Koyoharu Gotouge?!)

There was a little information over the book and how it was supposedly written based off the character 'Tanjiro' who had actually been real but how the editor had said it must've been simply fiction. It said other things about the author as well that Muzan decided to simply ignore.

He opened the first page, noting that it was a chapter book—quite large as well. He flipped through a couple pages, stopping quite suddenly when he saw a picture somewhere. He went back and nearly gasped as the picture was of a man that looked... almost exactly like him. There were words under it saying it was an illustration of... Muzan Kibutsuji.

He turned his gaze to the words and skimmed the page in a panic.

And there he was, Muzan Kibutsuji. It had to be him. His scent was overly powering and bringing in a deep aura that made me shake from deep in my bones. I lunged forward, grabbing his arm as I shouted, "Muzan Kibutsuji!"

Muzan turned around and his piercing red eyes glared at me for half a second. But then he turned fully and I saw he was carrying a child. A little girl. A human girl. "Dear? What's this about?" a woman asked, a hand on Muzan's shoulder as she peeked around him.

Two humans. They were both humans, I just knew it. But he... he was a demon. There was no mistakening the smell he had, was he... He was hiding amongst the humans.

(Ermmmm pretend this is the part of Asakusa when Tanjiro first meets Muzan LMAO- I didn't know how to write it since kny is a manga :'>)

Muzan's eyes lingered on his name for a minute. He was real, no? This was real.

He skipped more pages towards the end and saw his name again. In this part, he appeared to be fighting the Main Character and the people named 'Hashira.' 

Hashira.

Wasn't that what the girl from earlier had said?

Standing suddenly, Muzan held the book tightly to his chest and walked as quickly as he could, his eyes searching for Kokushibo.

When he found him, he said, his voice low and scared, "Koku... I'm a villain."

Kokushibo gave him a perplexed look as Muzan handed him the book. "What? Please don't tell me the people's words have gotten into your head. You're not a villain, you're-"

Muzan didn't necessarily know if he wanted to know the end of the sentence or not and his cheeks flushed as he said hurridly, "Just read some of this."

Kokushibo opened the book at random, still looking confused. He looked down at the page and read a couple words before he looked up at Muzan, his eyes wide. "No, uhm. I'm sure it's just a coincidence it's your name," he said, looking very much concerned.

"It's not!! It's me! There are some pictures in this as well, see?" Muzan said, flipping a couple pages and pointing to a picture of himself transforming into what appeared to be him as a child into an adult. "It's me."

Kokushibo stared at it for a long while, then said, "Oh."

"It's me," he repeated. "Koku... everything anyone had said is true. It's all true. I'm... a monster."

Kokushibo looked up at that, putting the book aside. "Listen, you're not a monster, okay? You're Muzan, the boy who helps everyone even when he shouldn't! You're everything but what they've said. You're not whatever this book is lying about," he insisted, his hands clasped around Muzan's shoulders. 

"But I-" 

"I won't accept any 'but's' when they're not true at all!" Kokushibo interrupted. "Now, clearly the library isn't where we should be. We can go home now, I'll make you some food."

~~~

Muzan's eyes traced Kokushibo's actions as he cooked. He wondered what it would be like for his friend to cook for him as a boyfrie- 

No, no, they could never date. Not when Kokushibo was already getting enough hate as it was. 

Muzan sighed, leaning his head on his arms.

"You alright?" Kokushibo asked, placing a bowl of ramen on the table.

"I'm fine," Muzan mumbled, picking up the spoon he was handed. "Thanks."

Kokushibo nodded and sat across from him. 

They ate in silence for a while, both consumed in their thoughts.

As Muzan ate, he stared at the noodles in his bowl intently. He wondered if anything would be as it used to be again. He really wished it could be. He really hated this. Hated it too much and wanted to badly for it to be over. Not for himself, no that would be selfish of him, rather for his friends. And his family. He knew it wasn't easy for them either, constantly trying to help him when they should just let him die. It wasn't like he'd been a good person anyways. He had been horrible. He'd killed so many people just so he could be immortal? Wow. 

The door opened suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts. 

Kaigaku strode in followed by Gyutaro, both looking rather beaten up but wearing triumphant smiles on their faces.

Kokushibo and Muzan stood at the same time and rushed over to them, concerned. 

"What happened?" Kokushibo asked as Kaigaku batted his worried hand away.

"Nothing, nothing. We were only teaching some people talking bad about Muzan here a lesson," Kaigaku said, swerving around them and plopping onto Muzan's chair. "Hey, you finishing this? Can I have it? I'm starving."

Muzan nodded slowly, losing his appetite. "You shouldn't be getting into fights deliberately..." he fussed. "Especially for me."

Gyutaro waved him off. "It's fine, they're liars anyways," he said, grinning and stealing Kokushibo's bowl, grabbing a new spoon. 

"Hey, that's mine!!" Kokushibo whined. 

"They're not liars," Muzan mumbled as Kokushibo went to chase Gyutaro.

The other three froze and stared at him. "What?" they asked, almost simutaneously. 

"They're not liars," he repeated. "It's all true, all what they said."

Kaigaku raised an eyebrow. "Is this your attempt to convince us that we shouldn't be friends with you because it'll cause trouble for us?" he asked, his spoon raised half way to his mouth.

Actually, that was what he was trying to do.

Muzan hesitated.

Kaigaku sighed, dropping his spoon and splashing some of the soup onto the table. "Drop that, it's seriously annoying. And you'd have to kill me to make me stop being your friend," he said. 

The word kill reverberated(?..) in Muzan's mind and he flinched. "But that's just it! I killed so many people in my past." 

Gyutaro gave him a look. "They're lying."

"They're not," Muzan whispered. He looked up, his eyes glazing over the worried faces of his friends. They didn't deserve having to deal with im. They deserved better. "You guys can go home... Take the food if you want. I'll see you later," he said, basically dismissing them.

Fuck, if he was going to be that rude he was better off dead anyways. 

Muzan didn't miss the way they looked at each other with worried gazes before nodding and getting ready to leave.

Gyutaro and Kaigaku filed out the door but Kokushibo stayed back. 

"Hey, uhm... Please don't do anything reckless, Muzan. If you need to speak to someone, I'm only one call away. I'll be here if you need me to be," he murmured, hugging Muzan tightly before closing the front door behind him.

And then Muzan was alone, feeling like he could feel the imprint of Kokushibo's arms around him still. He wished Kokushibo hadn't left. But it was better if he had, really.

Making up his mind, Muzan went up to his room and got his notebook and a pencil.

He wrote down quickly, writing a letter to each of his friends and his family. Once he finished, he read them all through, making sure that he hadn't made any mistakes and that he'd listed enough things to show that he did appreciate every little part of them.

He signed them all and folded them up into makeshift envelopes, taping them all shut. 

He went and slumped onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow. He would deliver them tomorrow.

~~~

The next day, as he'd promised himself, he went to his friend's houses, handing them the letter and telling them to read it in a few days time—his birthday, actually. 

They didn't really think much of it, especially since Kokushibo was the only one who knew his birthday and he probably didn't remember anyways. 

Muzan wouldn't have minded that, after all it didn't matter whether or not Kokushibo remembered.

By the time he opened the letter, it would be too late.

~~~

The next few days passed rather quickly and Muzan found himself in a sort of daze as he continued on. He was waiting for the last day, the day he could finally let his friends live in peace.

He found his most battered clothes—deciding his better ones could be given to people who needed them. He didn't need to wear his best clothes if he would just be wasting them by dying in them. 

He went out walking, ignoring all the stares he recieved. He had left a letter on his bed in case anyone bothered to look there. Solely a letter of thanks to his family—he'd already written them letters individually but he'd felt it wasn't enough.

It was early morning when he'd set out and so most people were asleep, although the occasional person was around. But when he finally arrived, the sun was already half way up.

He had to hurry, he didn't want them to read the letters before it was true.

He waded into the water, trembling at the coldness that hit his skin. 

No. He had no right to be cold when he'd made people suffer before. 

He clenched his teeth together and continued into the water, nearly tripping several times before he made it to the point that the water nearly reached his mouth. He held his head up high and bounded forward cautiously.

The water rose to his mouth and he could barely keep it from his nose as he started treading water, keeping himself upright.

He turned back to the town he'd grown up in, bobbing up long enough to murmur, "I'm sorry," before he closed his eyes and mouth, slipping under the water.

The cool water slipped around Muzan and he could feel it soaking into his body. He gave himself a couple seconds to change his mind before he let out a breath and opened his mouth, letting the water flow into his nose as well.

He resisted the urge to go back up, though it pained him to. He'd chosen this specifically because it would be the least messy—his body would just float out into the ocean or sink or something, and probably disintigrate eventually—and because it would still be painful to himself. He deserved more pain but he didn't know how else he'd do it since he wasn't particularily strong. Not now. 

He used to be. And he deserved every form of torture he'd ensued(the fact that i don't rlly know what this word is-) over everyone... and more.

And so, as Muzan felt himself slipping out of consciousness as the water flowed into him, he thought of everyone he ever knew—whether the experiences with them were pleasant or not—and thanked them. He apologized over and over as he slipped away from the world of the living.

~~~

Kokushibo was smiling to himself as he ate his breakfast, excited for today.

"Why are you so happy?" Yoriichi asked skeptically. 

He said nothing and continued eating, wondering how he might ask out Muzan.

He'd been planning for some time now and had decided, finally, to ask him out. Especially since it was Muzan's birthday. 

He felt that he wanted him to have the best day today since every other day had been absolute shit. And besides, he figured Muzan would say yes. He'd noticed him blushing around him so constantly. 

Yoriichi leaned on the table, looking annoyed. "By the way, are you going to open that letter Kibutsuji gave you? I heard he gave them to all of his friends," he commented, nodding to himself. "I overheard him telling you to open it today. Or are you smiling because of the letter?"

Kokushibo hadn't, in fact, opened it yet. He'd actually kinda forgotten about it in all his plans. "Right!" he said, abandoning his breakfast going back to his room.

Yoriichi sighed and watched him run upstairs. "He's in love, isn't he," he said to himself, grumbling.

Kokushibo opened the letter cautiously, noting how the paper looked a bit smudged with ink.

His eyes landed on the first words, smiling to himself as he was met with Muzan's handwriting. Willing himself to read it slowly and not only skim through it, he started down the letter, his smile wavering on his face for a while. But as he reached the middle of the paper, it slowly slipped away forming a frown in it's place. The frown deepened to a look of sheer horror and he dropped the letter as his eyes consumed the last word. 

He turned abruptly and ran back down, ignoring Yoriichi's questioning looks as he harshly pulled on his shoes and ran out the door in a panic.

Yoriichi glared at him. "What now? Has he gone to confess his love to him?" he said, sighing.

He went upstairs and picked up the letter which looked a bit crumpled at the bottom. He skimmed through it then placed it on the table. "Muzan is a fucking idiot," he said, following his brother's tracks downstairs and out the door.

~~~

Kokushibo knocked furiously at Muzan's door and the fact of a devestated woman met his. She was Muzan's mother. 

"Is... Muzan...?" Kokushibo whispered, dread swimming in his stomach.

She looked down. "He's... I think he left home early. He left a note on his bed... And he gave us each one a couple days ago," she mumbled, lifting a paper. It clearly said something different than Kokushibo's but he figured it had some sort of thanks and then apologies and then explanations as he glanced at it. 

His face fell and his arms wrapped around his stomach. "He's dead?" he said, his voice coming out cracked.

Muzan's mother flinched at that but Kokushibo was too preocupied to notice. Muzan was dead.

A hand was placed on his shoulder and he turned, numb inside.

Yoriichi gave the woman an apologetic look. "I'm sorry for you loss, Mrs.Kibutsuji. I'll... take my brother now," he said pulling Kokushibo away.

~~~

Kokushibo found himself in a park sitting next to Yoriichi who was glaring at the ground.

"Yorii?" he said hoarsely. 

Yoriichi glanced at him. "Hm?"

"Why did he die?"

He sighed. "He was worrying too much about you, I guess."

"But why? He had only to worry about himself! He didn't have to worry about me—us—anyone but himself! He was getting the threats. He was getting all of the hate and yet... he did this for us?? He didn't say once in the whole letter that he died because he couldn't handle it for himself anymore! He said it all because he was worried about the lashback on us!! He was worried about us when he should've worried about himself!!" Kokushibo spat, glaring at the ground. 

"Michi, he was a selfless fuck in this time. He used to be... otherwise, but he changed, I suppose." Yoriichi looked at his brother with a look of pity that had nothing to do with Muzan. "But he's gone and you can't change that or the reason for it."

"No!! He can't have died!!" Kokushibo looked up. "I can't let him die!" he decided, standing abruptly.

Yoriichi stood as well and his voice came out more of a command, "Kokushibo. I want you to sit down."

At the nickname—the name Michikatsu had heard most of from Muzan, he felt himself break. He sat down and Yoriichi stood in front of him with a stern look. 

"He's gone and you cannot change that. You can't change the fact that he was who he was. I need you to think about it. Just accept it. I don't care how hard it will be, but you have to accept it. You'll just pain yourself more if you don't." Yoriichi's eyes were narrowed in a glare but when his brother started to cry, his gaze softened. He wrapped his arms around MIchikatsu, feeling that he couldn't bear him to cry over so dead person. 

Michikatsu sobbed into Yoriichi's hug, letting himself pour out. "I was going to tell him I loved him," he said between hiccups. "I was... I was going to..." 

"Shh," Yoriichi murmured, "don't talk until you're ready."

And it was quite a few minutes until he was ready, but when he was, he rubbed at his eyes and looked up at his brother. 

"Today was his birthday," Michikatsu mumbled. "He... on his birthday. I'm sure he did that on purpose."

Yoriichi gave him a sympathetic look. "Perhaps he did. But we will never know. Why don't you... invite your friends over to our house? I'm sure they'll need some help through this as much as you do. Take yourselves through the process together, at least," he suggested.

Michikatsu had never known his brother to give Muzan any sort of proper acknowledgement and at that, he was surprised. But he nodded and stood, pretending not to notice all the people around them staring.

"Alright... Will you help me call them?" 

Yoriichi nodded. "Of course."

~~~

Dear Koku,

Or Michikatsu? Kokushibo? What do I call you? 

I always wanted to call you my lover.

I know it's quite sudden, but I really love you. I have hoped against hope that one day I could tell you. But I couldn't tell you when everybody was hating you for being my friend—and I feared their reaction if you were dating me. If you did like me, of course. 

But there was a reason I said nothing, and I apologize if it makes you uncomfortable knowing I've been crushing on you for a while now though you may not like me in that way at all.

I just found myself so deeply in love with you all the time and you were most likely one of the main reasons I've been able to make it quite so far in my life. 

I always loved how you were. How you act, how you talk, how you walk... everything. You were always just so beautiful to me. I'm sure others see you like this as well. How could they miss such and amazing person? 

I adore you with all my heart and my being and my mind. I want to stay here with you forever but I know that would only bring pain to you for being seen with me. I know you don't want to be targetted for knowing me as much as I don't want you to be hated on because I love you.

Yes... I love you. Too much for my heart to handle sometimes. You make me so happy and I want to live so much longer with you by my side.

But I can't.

I can't live, Koku. I want you, and everyone else, to be content. If me being dead brings happiness to people, then why not give them a time to be happy? 

I know how much you'd blame yourself for this though it was purely my own decision, so I need you to know that everything you've done for me has made me ever the most happiest person alive. I need you to know that you're worth everything, every breath, every smile, every little moment. So please keep living for me. Please don't blame yourself.

Make a life you can live in happiness with me gone now. Make a life you can grow up as someone known as the amazing Koku and not the Person Who Made Friends with Kibutsuji. Please be happy for... for anything you love. 

You're very dear to me, and I love you, Kokushibo. I love you so, so much. 

I promise to think of you till the very end.  

You may not see me anymore, but I promise that I'll be watching you. I'll make sure your life goes as heavenly as possible because you are heaven. You're the greatest person to exist. 

I love you, Michikatsu Tsugikuni.

I love you.

In hopes of your well being and greatest happiness, Muzan Kibutsuji.

{Word count: 4825}

I thought I had not motivation

Ig i lied to myself (my motivation always tends to come when i have to finish my hw the same day!!)

ngl this was both depressing to write and fun

and i hate it but i love it yk? 

[plague-karm]

Hadalpelagic Zone Part 11: Lena and Sebastian discuss their plans while Bentley, Valen, and Ellie exploit the fact that their friend (or in Ellie’s case “fucking abomination who really likes going near my best friend for some reason”) has become the towns urban legend.

“Did you get all that?”

Sebastian had set it up in a way she could (hopefully) understand, it was a diagram that took him a while to draw, detailing the ins and outs of Innovation Inc and how Lena could get the files into the system without drawing suspicion.

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“My old engineering class went on a field trip there”

“You went to uni too?”

“Yeah? I didn’t finish it though”

His eyes twitched.

“A minor inconvenience got in the way”

“Ohhh because you got arrested”

“Yeah. That.”

“I’ve taken all the routes in, when are we actually going to do this exactly?”

“What days do you not have work?”

“Wednesdays and weekends”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, I work on analytics here so they let me off”

“Right…”

“So I have to import this into the system and make sure it can’t be erased?”

“Exactly, make sure it can’t be missed, you’re trusted, they’ll believe anything you say”

“Well not everything, I had a hangover and said I was sober once, I threw up, I cried”

“I…how do you want me to respond to that exactly?”

“I don’t know but I don’t drink anymore so that won’t be a problem”

“Thank god”

While they continued to discuss their plans, Bentley, Valen and Ellie were having an afternoon walk through town, Ellie and Valen were walking hand in hand while Bentley whistled and walked by his lonesome.

“Hey check it out!”

Valen exclaimed as he walked over to a nearby poster, the other two joined him to see the large cloaked figure on the poster.

“Looks like Seb’s been making a name for himself”

“All that talk about keeping his existence a secret and he does this…?”

“Hey don’t look at me…!”

“No one knows what he ACTUALLY looks like so it’s not an issue”

“But what if someone finds out?”

“We snuff ‘em out”

“WHAT?!”

“Ooooo that’s a good idea actually”

“Oh come on- we’re not REALLY gonna start killing people are we?!”

“Relax boy kisser we’re not actually gonna do it, it’s just an idea”

“An idea I’m REALLY tempted to go through with”

Someone else joined them, a younger looking girl, she looked a little nervous.

“H-Have you seen it?”

Bentley took notice and immediately turned to her, his voice took on a more gentle tone.

“Seen what?”

“The monster…”

“Hm…yeah, I have”

Valen looked panicked and whispered.

“What are you doing…?!”

“He’s a tall fella, real tall”

“Is it true that he hurts people?”

“Hm…only the ones who hurt him back”

“M’kay”

She walked back over to her mother.

“You’re SUCH a liar, he would kill anyone if it meant lining his pockets!”

“Ellie, the kid looked like she had seen a ghost, couldn’t spook her more than she already was”

“What if the rumours get worse…?!”

“Nah I think it’s funny, they all think he’s this evil behemoth when he’s actually just pissy and greedy, it’s hilarious”

“Two of those things are true…”

A lot of things happened that night, while Bentley was off making bank regarding the urban legend of his remote seaside town, said creature and Lena had other plans. He was waiting for Lena to come into his room to discuss their plans one last time before going out to transfer the files…where was she? He wasn’t normally this antsy but she had been that consistent up until now, she’s normally here by now, where could she be…?

“Great, maybe she IS an idiot…”

He slithered upstairs and knocked on her door, he crossed his arms and said…

“We were supposed to meet thirty minutes ago…open up”

No response.

“Don’t make me come in there”

Again, no response.

“For the love of god-“

He opened the door only to find her in a fetal position in her bed, his eyes widened and he went over to her without a second thought, like he was pulled towards the sounds of her pain. She was wincing, badly.

“What happened…?

“My legs feel like they’re on fire…”

Why did he feel so worried? Why did he want to put her wellbeing over the plan? Why did he feel so conflicted?

“You said I had to import the files first right…?”

“Yeah?”

“You said you’ll be there so just…get me in the building and I can do that, I need my meds first though”

Her voice was beginning to sound less strained, she still couldn’t stand though.

“Where are they?”

“In there”

God why did everything she own have to be so pointy and inaccessible to him? Who even buys cabinets this shape it’s so jagged!

“You’re almost there”

“Don’t patronise me”

“Sorry”

When he finally managed to open the cabinet he saw several bottles and his eyes twitched, of course tonight was going to have pitfalls, if only he still had normal hands, maybe he could sort through this quicker…he huffed, he needed to stop thinking “what if” and “if only” regarding his old life, he wasn’t human anymore, he was tempted to pull his hair out until he remembered he wasn’t alone. She was just sitting there, looking at him with wide eyes, but there wasn’t a single hint of fear in them.

Looking back, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her show fear towards him. Valen’s always been jumpy, and even now he still gets a little apprehensive around him, Bentley looked like he was on the verge of freaking out when he told him he used to eat people to survive (something that definitely didn’t ring in his conscious in present day). But Lena had never done that, she either looked dazed or curious, he overanalysed all of them in his spare time to make sure they weren’t going to give him up if they were offered something, he could read Valen and Bentley like books, but Lena was like static, hard to make out with nothing behind her eyes.

“…Can you get them?”

He looked down at his claws.

“These things are being useless”

Lena tilted her head in response.

“Okay, I’ll try and get up”

This immediately lead to her falling flat on her face.

“Ouch”

He sighed and held her up to the cabinet, using one of his arms as a backrest for her.

“Just find the damn meds…”

“Okay”

She found them and took three.

“Thank you, my strength should come back in a little while”

“But we don’t HAVE a-“

He took a deep breath, he had to keep calm, he knew this wasn’t her fault, it was something she shouldn’t control, but he was so fixated on the plan…this couldn’t have happened at a worst time…

Unless…

“You’re lucky I planned around this”

“Hm?”

He kept her in his grasp and slithered down to his room.

“Wait did you get the-?”

She was already holding the hard drive containing the files.

“Oh”

“Yeah, I got it before you rushed me out”

“I didn’t rush you”

“You’re very fast despite your size”

He turned to her, he didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended.

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been eating a lot of meat lately so-“

“You know what? Never mind, you’re getting distracted, this is what I did in case your little condition started acting up”

He revealed that he made a secret opening in the floor which lead to one of Innovation Inc’s entry points.

“This will get us there”

“Wow…how long did it take you to do this?”

He looked away and spat some of his teeth out.

“You don’t wanna know”

“…”

“They’ll grow back”

“Okay…let’s go”

He continued keeping her in his grasp as they went through the secret entryway, and he hoped that nothing else unexpected would happen that night…

Well it did, he just wasn’t there to see it.

Bentley had been going around town and telling yarns about his encounters with the “mysterious creature” roaming town, and he was being given quite a lot of money for it.

“Should we REALLY be doing this?”

“Val, think about it, if we spread this about, more crazies are gonna wanna buy from him AND people are gonna stop wandering near where we live, ‘cause you know, abandoned”

“Yeah and the money’s good sooooo…”

Valen sighed, he might as well grin and bear it right?

Meanwhile the other two managed to sneak into the building and were currently wandering through its lower levels.

“I forgot how big this place was…”

“The main computer is on a higher level, if I can lock the files onto that then we should be set to do whatever we want from there”

“And that’s exactly what I want”

“…Right”

“Are your legs working now?”

Lena looked down blankly.

“Let me check”

She rocked her legs back and forth.

“Put me down so I can try walking”

He put her down on her feet and slowly let go (in case she fell over again) and to both of their relieves Lena could walk once more.

“Thank god…”

He made sure she wasn’t looking when he quickly punched a hole through the steel wall.

“There’s an opening over there you can use, I’ll stay here and look out for you”

“Okay…”

Lena hummed as she went through it, she managed to find it after a while and exported the files successfully, he smirked when he realised that things were going well despite her physical detriments…they’d have to do this again VERY soon.

“Perfect…”

“Okay that should be going through their system now”

She still looked unsure about all of this, she knew it was for a good reason, but she felt like something wasn’t right…she hated feeling wrong, whenever she was “wrong”, something bad would happen.

“Why are we doing this again?”

He looked down at her as she stood by him, of course, none of these idiots liked to make life easy.

“I told you yesterday-“

“I don’t believe that”

He couldn’t tell what face she was making…was she trying to look stern? He genuinely couldn’t tell, she was his only ticket into this place so as much as he’d LOVE to argue with her he knew he couldn’t risk that, reaching out to any other person in town who would be crazy enough to help out would inevitably out him and his location and that’s something he couldn’t risk.

Oh god, he was actually being rational, all those anger management lessons from his mom were paying off it seems.

“Listen Lena the only thing you need to know about my intentions is that they’re good alright?”

“So other people don’t go through what you went through or because you want revenge?”

Boom, she got him, he tensed and hissed as she crossed her arms, he forced a smile as he said…

“What makes you say that?”

“You just…I overhear things sometimes…you’re just doing this for your own interests…”

“…I literally said that a life where they go defunct is the life I wanna live why are you so surprised?”

Oh god, she forgot he even said that, how was her mind getting WORSE? What did she have for breakfast this morning? Was it warm or cold today? Who did she talk to? She was getting overwhelmed, badly overwhelmed, she began to hyperventilate, he knew that they would get caught if she started doing something more verbal so he put her back in his grasp and travelled to the lowest floor of Innovation Inc, there wasn’t much here aside from abandoned experiments and barely functioning lights (which he didn’t mind because the less light the better). He wasn’t sure how to bring her out of this state so he reluctantly rubbed her back and kept her in his arms in case her pacing would alert security.

“Look if you forgot it’s fine but I’m not gonna go around and act like I’m a beacon of morality because I’m NOT…and I…DO need you, you’re the only one out of those idiots I can trust…they’d snitch, you won’t”

She mumbled and nodded, he could tell she was coming back a bit.

“And you’re not doing anything “wrong” either, you’re helping me with the takedown of an organisation that put you and the other two idiots through hell…if your conscious is eating away at you so much just pretend I’m not even there”

“…I don’t blame you for being angry at them, I just wish you just told me flat out “hey I want revenge against this corporation that turned me into something I didn’t want against my will” because I’d be more upset for it if you just said that”

“Why?”

“Because they hurt me too…but what they did to you was…I don’t really know how to describe it”

Oh she just opened Pandora’s box with that one, his eyes twitched as he made her look up at him with his claws. His rage was palpable and she could see that, she wanted him to get it out of his system.

“Imagine your body, your goals, your LIFE, allllll being taken from you because of a crime you didn’t even FUCKING commit!”

He sounded unhinged, but Lena remained in place, looking up at him, he was completely losing it.

“This ISN’T a body it’s a PRISON! I’ve been stuck like this for years and there’s STILL parts of it I haven’t figured out! YOU can’t comprehend what they did to me! I’ve heard it allll before from people like you! You have one little bodily problem and you think it’s COMPARABLE! Like we have something in common! I know something happened to you! It’s written all over your face! So if you even THINK of comparing whatever the hell you went through to me then just shut the fu-!”

“I’m not”

He was breathing heavily, he couldn’t tell if this was a release for him or an implosion, god, how was she not afraid? He’s had this talk plenty of times before, before he met her and the others, he’d bring people to tears, make them fear him, because the thought of genuine connection in a place like the Hadal Blacksite was ridiculous, it’s why him living with them felt so alien to him.

He couldn’t tell if he was happy or not, well, he was, he could see his mom and his siblings whenever he wanted, he could indulge in as much food as he wanted, there were things he still couldn’t do (like go out in public during the day or get a normal job) but it was better than bitter cold and constant starvation. He continued ranting, it eventually devolved into barely comprehensible Spanish that Lena couldn’t really make out but he kept her in his grasp throughout all of it.

She didn’t know why, maybe it was to keep him grounded? She knew that a lot more of his…animalistic traits had been popping up more as of recent thanks to the sensations and life he had been locked away from. The biggest one she had noticed was his fixation with blood, she had a tendency to accidentally cut herself whenever she made dinner and he’d loom over her, he’d then look away reluctantly and force out a simple…

“Sorry…”

It got to the point where he had to keep himself in his room whenever she cooked because it happened so frequently. His teeth would regularly fall out and grow back in quick succession depending on what he ate. Little things like that she took notice of, and she didn’t blame him for any of them, she knew what it was like to have parts of yourself taken away from you, but she didn’t know how to phrase in a way that wouldn’t make him angrier than he already was.

He slammed his left fist to the metal floor, his claws dragging through it with ease, he looked back at Lena…god…why was she still looking at him like that?! Lena wasn’t sure what to do…this was someone who actually knew what it was like, she knew he wouldn’t hear her out, but she wanted to get this out of her system, time to give Ellie’s advice a chance.

“Look…parts of me were taken away too, obviously it doesn’t show but…it was something similar-“

Oh he did NOT need to hear this right now, he glared at her and his grip tightened, his rage reaching its boiling point.

“AT LEAST YOU STILL HAVE A BODY!”

“At least you still have a mind…”

His anger came to a screeching halt, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t that, he looked less angry and more taken off guard, the way she responded…it was so empty, and he knew that his one sided screaming match would get them both in serious trouble if he carried on so he kept his trap shut as he slowly travelled through the entryway he made.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Lena looked down at her hands and sighed, no going back now…

“When I was younger my dad always said that I had a brilliant mind that was being held back by itself…I didn’t know what he meant by that…until one day he did an operation on me, and I could do things I couldn’t do before a little faster…”

“How old were you when that happened?”

“Eleven”

Jesus Christ…

“It should’ve been one but he was impatient and they kept going…and after a few years the opposite happened, I couldn’t walk as well as I used to, I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t cry, I was getting paler…I tried to tell him that he was hurting me, but he wouldn’t listen…so a week after my 16th birthday I just…”

And then it all clicked for him.

“…That’s why you ran away from home isn’t it?”

“Mhm, I moved in with Bentley after that, we grew up together…but something happened with his family and he moved to Cali to get away from everything so I just went to him since he made me feel safe…and I don’t even register that the person I was before the operations is even ME…we’re like two completely different people…I haven’t told Bentley or Val because I don’t want to be seen as something that constantly needs to be helped, Ley’s protective as it is I don’t want it to get worse. Im twenty four, he shouldn’t be worrying about me all the time…”

He could tell this had been on her mind for a while, this explained the scars she had too, he wanted to bring them up but the energy he lost from his emotional breakdown earlier was starting to catch up to him. She looked upset too, as upset as she could be, she was hugging herself as her dazed eyes looked downwards.

“The pain you felt when you got experimented on, I don’t know what that’s like, I’ll never know what that’s like…but I know what it’s like to have parts taken away from you when you don’t want them to leave, and when they’re gone…you forget what it’s like to even have them in the first place…and you don’t feel like yourself…even when you’re around people who love you despite all of that… and feeling wrong even though what happened isn’t your fault, you know it’s not but you blame yourself anyway…do you know what that’s like?”

That resonated with him, finally, someone who didn’t try and compare their pain to his, he knew she was someone who struggled with words, he knew she trusted him, he didn’t know why for the longest time, but she did. She looked up at him and he responded in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

“…Yeah”

“I want to help you, I really do, I just don’t want you to lie to me”

They made it back to his room, he finally put her down and he curled up by the pillow nest, he has a bed but he still makes the nests out of habit. Lena sat close to him.

“Fine, you’ve convinced me”

“That’s good”

“…Did the shouting overwhelm you?”

“Yeah”

“…I’m sorry”

“It’s okay”

That’s when they overheard commotion from upstairs, it sounded like the other three had been here for a while, Lena looked up at the door and tilted her head, the two slowly walked out to see what was going on.

“What’s happening up there?”

“I don’t know but I actually need to try and go to sleep so whatever it is they better-“

Bentley, Ellie, and Valen had all of the money they made on the table, celebrating with their adrenaline on full display.

“OH WE ARE DOING THIS EVERY NIGHT!”

“OH MY GOD YEEEESSSSS!”

“I can’t believe we got so much just for telling true-ish stories…”

“WE GAVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT AND WE GOT WHAT WE WANT IN TURN!”

“NOTHING IS GONNA RUIN THIS FOR US-!”

That’s when the three noticed that they weren’t alone, Sebastian put the pieces together pretty quickly and his rage spiked up yet again.

“HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING MONEY OFF OF ME AGAIN?!”

“Oh shit I JUST remembered my limo’s waiting for me outside and I can’t miss it byeeee”

Ellie ran like hell out of the house and Valen screamed as he avoided his inevitable wrath, Bentley managed to dodge his tail with ease as Lena yawned and went upstairs to get some sleep. After the chaos simmered down everyone else went to sleep…except for Sebastian, maybe he could actually trust her…not just as a business partner, not just as a roommate but also as a friend…yeah…

That sounds right.

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Whumptober Alt Prompt - Body Swap

Bonus prompt for @whumptober 2024,

NEW AU - Nobody noticed, Nobody Cared? - Aurora works out a plan to get into the middle of the Mikaelson siblings and convinces Tristan to help.

Elijah may be a little off in this that's Aurora's brain chemistry messing with him

----

The idea had come to her nearly a year before, with the new knowledge of how close they’re deaths could be without any ability to stop them. Aurora had no grudge against Rebekah; they had been friends once, one of the few Aurora had ever really had besides Lucien, and while she wanted Niklaus to pay for believing her words, his brother’s trick she didn’t want him dead, she loved him.

The only one she wanted dead was Elijah but with his death taking Tristan she couldn’t allow it, so she had thought of another way to hurt him.

Elijah Mikaelson, who threw everything he had or ever wanted away to protect his family, who was truly the true danger of the Original siblings. Who kept everything so tightly locked within himself she doubted anyone saw the true him, even his lovers only caught glimpses of him.

Tristan likely knew the most, even before the century forced to believe himself, Elijah.

 He had slowly drawn admissions and insecurities from the new monster, before he had done as Tristan is want to and used Elijah to turn himself, mistaking Elijah for one of his other flings. 

Oh yes, Aurora knew the truth of how Tristan had been turned, he had told her during one of her dark periods just after they had returned to themselves, it had managed to pull a laugh from her even as she felt like her chest was being crushed by despair. 

Tristan had from the moment he set eyes on the shortest brother of those that Lucien had brought to court and decided to bed him, waxed poetically about Elijah’s mind, the speed he picked up the art of the writing and reading, the sweet disarming way he could twist words and that under his soft heart there was a deviousness Tristan wanted to bring out. Finn himself had warned Tristan to beware of pushing his brother too far, and yet Tristan had still used Elijah to turn him into a monster, that it was clear both the oldest brothers hated being and thought he could guilt Elijah for it and not be caught.

Tristan had underestimated Elijah in a number of ways.

Over the centuries she had wondered if they were lucky Elijah had needed bait instead of dealing with the betrayal as he had done with others over the years, swift and brutal, lovers weren’t anymore spared than strangers if they made themself a threat to his siblings, they had learned from the rumours and tales that gathered in the Mikaelson wake.

She would take a century as Rebekah Mikaelson and the years lost in the chaos of her mind after, then centuries without her brother.

She knows Tristan holds something about that close to his heart, he had never truly lost his fascination-obsession over Elijah, something she found she could use when she came up with her plan.

Elijah loved his family more than himself, so to hurt him she would take it from him, she would use the fact he kept so much of himself hidden, even from them, and slip into his place. Between what Tristan could teach from his century as Elijah and whatever the Stix gathered on him and the current state of the family to

The easiest way to get into the centre of the Mikaelsons to avoid their sharpest mind was to become it.

“Ready ‘Rory?” Tristan’s voice called her from her thoughts.

“More than ever.” she beamed at him

“Remember the plan, use whatever had caused the split to explain any differences.” 

Tristan had had his Stix watching and gathering all information about the Mikaelson since he had agreed, while Aya had prepared the witches and Tristan had set about drilling the basic behaviours and mannerisms of Elijah Mikaelson.

She knew far more about suits than she ever thought she would need as well as how deep her brother’s obsession with Elijah went, even further than her and Lucien’s shared one about Niklaus, not that she would ever mention that to Tristan.

“Yes, I know.” she chirped as she flexed her hands to calm the growing energy she could feel, taking a breath to calm herself she didn’t have time for a slip up now.

She smiled at Tristan and laid back, closing her eyes and memorising the feel on his lips on her forehead before the chanting started.

The first feeling that showed it had worked was the sudden warmth around her and rocking.

She opened her eyes to find herself in a car, pretty blonde driving and a tiny baby sitting in a car seat. The baby stared up at her before smiling, Aurora found herself transfixed.

The baby, Nik’s baby, the one that Tristan’s information claimed was dead.  

“Elijah, are you alright?” the blonde called in concern forcing Aurora to look away from the beaming child.

Camille O’connel as the Stix reports had told them, Niklaus' current fling or therapist or both, Nik likely needed it.

She could kill her, to hurt Niklaus as she had hurt but- The plan, the longer she was mistaken as Elijah the more she could learn for Tristan, for their own safety and the longer she was free. 

The longer she passed as Elijah, the more it would hurt Klaus when he learnt of it, the more it would hurt Elijah as his siblings failed to notice.

She smiled at Cami? Or would Elijah use her full name, Miss o'connell? Well it was time to see if they could get Elijah to help in his own suffering.

His family had always come first before himself and the tiny baby was sure to be at the top of his list now.

Time to make a call.

“I’m sorry,” she smiled as Tristan had shown her, and didn’t grin or laugh as her voice came out deeper, as ‘Elijah’ spoke, “could we pull over I need to make a phone call.”

Elijah’s accent has been a pain to learn but the Strix had managed to get several recordings.

Cami nodded as started to pull over looking concerned but not in a dangerous way.

No matter, if she figured it out Aurora would kill her or if Elijah refused to help she would kill her, she preferred not, dear Cami would be a wonderful tool to get into Niklaus’ mind without revealing herself too soon.

—

Elijah wasn’t having a great few weeks mot-Esther had abducted and tortured him, had learned he had killed the first woman he had loved, been sent away by his siblings as his lack of control made him useless and then had needed to blow himself up to deal with Finn.

He had thought it was improving after he had found Cami and Hope, and he had let himself fall asleep in the car to Cami’s driving, Hope’s happy and safe beside him. The energy used in the fight and healing from burning and being blown up had taken its toll.

He had expected to wake back in the warm car, Hope’s sweet baby noise next to him and Camille’s concerned look.

Instead he came back to awareness of the cool air and opened his eyes to a stone ceiling.

His heart was beating too fast, he raised a hand to it and froze as the chest he felt wasn’t his, he looked down strands of red hair falling in his face and found slim pale hands, bright painted nails and curves he didn’t have, making it clear it wasn't just his location that had changed.

He swallowed as a flash of fear rushed down his spine, that this could be another trick of his Esther’s.

"Hello Elijah, it's been a while." Tristan de Martel greeted as he stepped out of the shadows, it explained whose body he's likely in, but it was the only possibility worse than Esther.

And how, the stix’s coven had the power but how and why? He had known their resentment for him but he had left them alone as long as they had done the same for him.

And what on earth would have Tristan involve his sister.

“Tristan.” he said, flinching as Aurora’s voice greeted his ears instead of his own. He knew it would and yet the reality of it still hit him. He was completely out of his depth and he knew it, the last thing his family needed was another enemy.

Tristan smirk made it clear that he was just as aware.

“My sister’s idea,” Tristan explained, stepping closer to the bed Elijah had woken on, “I was against it of course but she was very insistent and had some excellent points.”

“Why?” he asked, running his hands down over his-Aurora’s clothes, in an attempt to release the nervous energy he could feel. He wasn’t restrained but he was in a body he wasn’t used to and had no idea of where he was.

“Why?” Tristan repeated “Revenge, Rory’s still very angry over your break up of her and Niklaus, and of course that century that followed.” Elijah had to stop his flinch at the reminder of his recently returned memories, while he had lived centuries unaware of it, Aurora had been thinking, hating and apparently plotting against him for it. “So she decided to swap places, put herself in the heart of your family beside Klaus.”

“So this was your plan?” he retorted, smothering a wince at how high her voice was and his shudder at what Aurora could in his body to his family. 

It didn’t matter, Aurora and he were very different people she would be discovered quickly, the little comfort that brought him vanished just as quickly as he remembered he had been alone with Cami and Hope before he woke here, they would be helpless. 

He reminded himself that clearly the Stix had been watching over them to be able to cast a spell like this, they had to know Cami’s importance and of Hope. Aurora would be able to work out who she was and if she still wanted Klaus’ love that Hope’s safety was important.

Elijah suddenly realised what he would need to do, they wanted to punish him he would take it, they could turn his family against him but as long as Hope, Hayley, Cami and his family were safe he could-would take and do anything.

“What do you want?” he asked, Tristan raised an eyebrow and Elijah tried to ignore the irritation that it brought him, the waste of time as he was forced to add. “What is the point of all this?”

Tristan didn’t answer and just watched him with a smile.

“I’m here,” he snapped trying to release the tension building under his skin, “but it’s you sister’s body, you want to torture me you wouldn’t have used this way, you wouldn’t put her at risk.”

“It was her idea.” Tristan reminded him.

“But you wouldn’t hav-” he started but was cut off by a phone ringing, Trista pulled it was his pocket smile widening as he answered

“Hello” 

Tristan be a dear and pass the phone over. He heard his own voice come from the phone, he knew it was coming but it still caused his heart to stop before speeding up. 

“It’s for you.” Tristan told him, offering him the phone, Elijah took it noticing the bright garish red that covered the nail, almost blood coloured, he ignored his sudden thirst, a left over from Esther’s torture, he told himself.

“Aurora.” he said flatly, biting the inside of his lip to prevent any more words.

Whose the blonde and the baby? she asked, 

“Aurora if you-” he began,

“Times a wasting, who are they? his voice sounded wrong, but he wasn’t sure if that was hearing it over the call or the playful almost singsong way she used it.

“Camille and Hope,” he said shortly, biting through his cheek until he tasted blood and reminding himself he needed to do whatever to protect their family, “she’s a friend and Hope’s she my niece.”

Adopted? Aurora mused as some part of his mind screamed there was something in the way she said it but he couldn’t focus on it

“Niklaus’, blood.” he replied shortly trying to reclaim his lost train of thought.

How? She asked

“Because he’s a hybrid, we’re not sure how.” he offered before changing the subject, “Aurora, someone is after Hope, she's innocent and has done nothing wrong.”

Whose her mother? Aurora said as she ignored the change

“You want revenge against me fine,” he snapped, well aware that Aurora could see Hayley as a challenge and would never expect a threat from him, the last time they had-no he wouldn;t think about that now “I deserve it but they haven't done anything.” he ignored the strange shift in his voice, it was just Aurora’s voice, he hadn’t whined, he hadn’t.

I’m going to need to know everything. Aurora chimed and Elijah could also feel the smile he heard in her voice.

“You want to pass as me, I'll help you,” he told her, stumbling slightly as he paced, before he questioned it he blamed the shift in balance, Aurora was much shorter than he was used to, and had a different centre of gravity, “just protect them.

That makes things far easier, doesn’t it? 

“Her mother’s Hayley,” he started and quickly found himself unable to stop, “she’s a hybrid she was murdered after giving birth to hope Mother arranged it, i have recently been held captive by her it's was the cause of my being sent away. Hayley and I were close but she married Jackson to unite the werewolves and make them stronger to protect Hope, you're going there now.”

Ahh! So you're giving up your body like you did the girl for your niece, must be a special baby. Aurora taunted.

“She’s family.“ he bit back.

And you do anything for family she sneered, Elijah wanted to snarl that she and Tristan were any different, but there was a growing awareness that he was powerless and if he upset her he wouldn’t be the only one suffering for it.

His nail caught on the seam of the white shirt Aurora had been wearing, he hadn’t even noticed his free hand had been fiddling with it.

He noticed the sharp contrast of the bright red and dull white, it only took a little more strength in it to break the stitches and tear the hem.

And them? His own voice pulled him away from the mess he was making of the bottom of the shirt and he blinked as he tried to work out who Aurora was referring to.

“Klaus has dealt with Esther, I just blew Finn and Kol’s currently in a witch’s body, he’s trying to fix a Hex Finn left on him with Davina.” he explained, feeling lighter as the words left him, if Aurora was asking then she was going to take his offer. She was right Elijah would sell himself to hell to protect his family.

The harvest girl? Aurora said, making him freeze.

“How?” he demanded, before he realised “you’ve been watching us.” he sighed, it would makes sense to get what they needed to perform the bodyswap to ensure Aurora wouldn’t wake up in a dangerous position

We had to prepare and mostly it’s the- Aurora said proving his thoughts correct.

“Stix.” Tristan finished reminding Elijah of his presence, something he had forgotten about, Elijah briefly questioned how he could have forgotten him, the closest threat to him but brushed the concern away he was clearly more worried for Hope, that was it.

“So you knew everything-” He growled as he realised they had been playing him from the start, they knew he would give himself up to help Aurora pass as him.

Yep had to make sure you were being honest but are you sure we need to go back with Camile, I'm feeling a bit hungry? Aurora carelessly asked but Elijah could almost hear the shift in his face, the vine and growing fangs.

“Please.” he begged, freezing slightly he did so but quickly brushing it aside, it was for Hope, it was fine.

Alright, Aurora sighed, almost put upon if not for the fact he could hear the smirk in the following words I have to go, it seems my new niece has someone she needs to see.Aurora called before hanging up, leaving Elijah alone, in silence, in the wrong body with Tristan De Martel.

He eyed his first sired as he debated if he could use the phone to get a warning to his family before quickly gave it up, he wouldn’t risk Cami and Hope. His family would notice the differences he was sure, Aurora was nearly his opposite.

There was something else Tristan could be of use for though, he needed to let out the buzzing under his skin and to distract himself from the horror Aurora could be unleashing on his family if she changed her mind.

—

Tristan had sent the witches away as soon as they finished and stepped back to watch as Aur-Elijah woke, their hand going to his heart to realise something was different. He had smiled the narrowed eyed look that had first met him when he revealed himself, grown interested in the well hidden fear and concern but an idea had though the call.

At first he had brushed it off, the sharp movements, too distracted by Elijah’s unique accent in the place of his sister’s, her voice but not her words.

Not her speaking at all.

But he recognised far too much of his sister’s habits during the start of her high episodes as Elijah spoke, offering to help Aurora past as him, giving them the information that his Strix hadn’t been able to.

Things Elijah would not have done if he was clear headed.

It was a possibility, one not truly considered, they- he should have looked into it.

It may have been the demons haunting her when they were alive but human research had found a name for those demons.

Found a cause to.

It was brain chemistry and so it was in the body.

The body Elijah Mikaelson was now in.

Elijah’s hands shook as he handed the phone back, nails red from where Aurora had painted them. For anyone else he would blame panic but Elijah never showed it like that and Tristan knew his sister’s body, knew her tells.

The pacing may have been Elijah but the swaying he likely hadn’t noticed he was doing wasn’t.

The speed he had explained the dangers currently facing the Mikaelson family and its miracle baby, words almost trailing into each other, normal for Aurora's voice unnatural with the knowledge it was Elijah Mikaelson, the wordsmith, behind them, the plea at the end.

Elijah wouldn’t normally beg but Aurora would say anything during her mania.

He doubted his sister had noticed over the phone, likely thinking about how she was going to explain why she had needed to call to upkeep the facade of being Elijah. Elijah had mentioned being sent away because a recent captivity with his mother had left him changed.

It seemed they had gotten lucky and arranged this for the perfect time, he thought as he watched Elijah’s eyes dart rapidly around the room and back at him.

He wondered briefly if he was going to need to drug Elijah so soon if he tried to attack him when he noticed Elijah’s sudden stillness, stark against the almost vibrating that the slight shakes had grown to.

Elijah was staring at his face or more pointedly his lips, he watched as Elijah’s licked his own.

He is slightly surprised at the idea of reserved Elijah, even when he was nothing but a courtier, falling for the base temptations but then Aurora had struggled with them, perhaps it was just her demons-the way her brain was.

A brain his sire now had to deal with.

So he’s prepared when Elijah suddenly kisses him. He goes with it, redirecting them until Elijah is sat back on the bed. For a moment he stayed still, allowing Elijah to occupy himself with his neck.

He knew where the restraints were, Elijah had no idea about them or what was going on, very likely didn’t even realise he would regret any of this in the future and if Tristan told him he wouldn’t care.

Leaving him alone throughout it would be cruller, Aurora hated being alone and Elijah wasn’t much different especially wouldn’t be now.

He could play along with Elijah's desire; it would mean he wouldn’t question anything until the mania cleared.

And if he was affected by the highs, no doubt the lows would be just as bad when they followed, if not worse, he remembered Elijah confessing his doubts and insecurities centuries ago, no doubt they had grown.

Current situation was just one piece.

At least if he stayed he would be there when Elijah started to question what was wrong with him. Be there with the answers that weren’t going to make anything better but would start to help Elijah understand, be there to run a hand through his hair that he knew would help.

He had the experience, something Elijah was going to need.

This plan of Aurora’s had suddenly become far more complicated than expected but perhaps it had become even better. 

They had wanted revenge, isolating Elijah from his family and letting Aurora’s truth turn Klaus against him was the plan; whatever Aurora had found when she woke in his body had caused her to change it and was somehow enough for Elijah to help Aurora.

But this was perfect, Tristan was going to watch as Elijah lost himself to the demons-illness that had haunted his sister all their life, and be his only comfort. Elijah had no idea what was to come, how to cope while Tristan had far too much experience.

So Tristan moved to catch Elijah’s lips, swallowed the sound he made and twisted them until he sat on the bed and Elijah straddled him.

It wasn’t until Elijah’s nails dragged down his back as he shrugged his shirt off that he realised the other half of this, if her illness had remained in her body, then, for the first time Aurora was free of it.

That was enough to keep his smile on his face even as fang sunk into his throat as Elijah bit down on his neck to drink.

[staruwhite]

One of the perks of the port mafia being such a big organization is the fact that there's space for anything inside that building.

And if you're the Demon prodigy... Well, let's say you can have a bit of a say in what to use some rooms for. Being Mori's golden child meant privilege, even if Dazai didn't use any of them. Living in a container in the middle of nowhere, preferring to use his hard earned executive pay to drown the sorrows in alcohol with Oda and Ango instead of getting some other place to live, not being close with almost anyone. That's the demon prodigy everyone knows. The monster they all feared.

Mori would try to keep him happy. Evil expects evil from others, and he knew what Dazai was capable of. The moment you're in his sights, you can say goodbye to your family. And yet, he seemed sure that Dazai had no emotions. It wasn't humanly possible for that to happen. Then again, he was never considered human in the first place, was he?

In the end, not taking into account Dazai's feelings would be what led Mori to lose him.

But not right now, at least. Not today.

Today, all that happened is that he made a request. For the first time, he decided he wanted something.

Deep inside, Dazai prayed for it to not be destroyed.

Mori would comply. He gave him what he wanted and, as he asked, promised not to tell anyone who was it that asked for it. Not like a mafia leader's promise was to be trusted, but it was all Dazai had.

The piano arrived shortly, finding its place in a mostly empty room. One away from most common places in the building, as Dazai requested. Sooner than later, rumours spread of a piano room that suddenly materialized. Dazai feigned ignorance, keeping up his usual mask in front of everyone. No one should know, after all, that the demon prodigy could have a heart.

Chuuya kept hearing about that "mysterious piano", his curiosity growing. By the time he had an hour to spend by himself and go check it out, it was already 3:30am. Most workers left to go home, and, being honest, the building with this little light seemed almost eerie, like he shouldn't be here. Much less in the part no one ever even goes to.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound. A soft touch of piano keys in the silence of the night. One that Chuuya wasn't ready to hear. He stopped in his tracks and looked at the closed door in front of him.

He was told the piano was in the room behind it, maybe it was true after all, but the sound of the soothing melody behind the door was enough to keep him there.

Who was playing? He took a step back, being as silent as possible, not wanting to disturb whoever was letting their heart out with that music. Instead of going in, he sat beside the door and tried to think.

Not like he knew everyone in the mafia... But he did know quite a few people, and none of them were pianists before joining, or even know how to play the piano as far as he knew. Not Kouyou, or Hirotsu, or...

It couldn't be him.

It was true, no one knew anything about Dazai's past. He could've been a pianist, maybe. Hell, if he's the demon prodigy then maybe he's also a music prodigy?

But it can't be him. Chuuya scratched that thought as he closed his eyes. That Mackerel is too annoying for something as calming as this. And even so...

The music grew louder, Chuuya's eyes widened. Whoever was in that room was pouring their soul into every note, drop by drop. He wondered if they'd ever run out of it. And that was all the reason he needed.

Someone as closed off as Dazai wouldn't just scream their heart out like this. Someone like him shouldn't be able to make Chuuya's heartstrings resonate, or make his breath falter with a mere sound.

Though this was no mere sound in Chuuya's ears. Someone was dying in there, and he felt no right to interrupt.

Just as it grew louder, the music went back to a softer sound. The calm after the storm.

Maybe they weren't dying. Maybe they were coming back alive.

His thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of someone at the end of the hall. His eyes shot towards the noise and he stood up. There was something telling him that, whoever it was, they shouldn't be here. No one was allowed to listen to this.

Was it a wave of protectiveness? Jealousy that others would also be able to listen to a stranger's heart? He didn't know.

What he knew, however, is that other people wouldn't be as gentle as he was with it. They'd go in and find out who it was. And even if Chuuya was dying to know, he was pretty sure the person inside didn't want anyone to interrupt.

He'd have to take the blame and hope they'd understand.

With a deep breath, he knocked on the wall behind him. As if alerting the one inside of something. Maybe he should've learnt morse code or something, but it worked. The person inside stopped playing abruptly, Chuuya mentally apologised and then left in a rush, using his ability to make his steps lighter.

Maybe he'd find out whoever that was some other day. Hopefully.

For the following day, he kept thinking back to that piano. It didn't really distract him, but the thought was constantly there. The feeling too.

He went back. Same place, same time. And to his surprise, the same song was being played. A smile found its way to his lips as the cycle repeated itself. He was pretty sure the person inside must know there was someone else outside, listening in, and in some way he did feel like he was intruding and should leave... But he didn't.

It became routine. A stranger playing the piano and Chuuya sitting outside, letting the music heal his tired soul even if for a few minutes. Then when someone would come, Chuuya would alert them and then leave.

He even started humming the melody by the third time he heard it. "They must like that one," he figured out. And unknown to him, he started humming it while out on a mission with the damn Mackerel.

Dazai on the other hand, was surprised Chuuya seemed so... Quiet. The redhead was usually loud in every sense, flashy and annoying. He found himself almost lost when his attempts to tease him were blocked by some wave of tranquility that the other boy was feeling.

That is, until he heard the humming. He didn't want to react, but he couldn't help it. He glanced at him, eyes slightly widened. And Chuuya noticed, of course.

Damn human emotions.

"What's with your face, mackerel?" Chuuya looked forwards again, focusing on where they were going.

"Didn't think slugs had enough culture to know Chopin," Dazai replied, looking away. "Where did you get that from?"

Chuuya made the connection in his head, but decided not to say anything.

"Chopin, eh...? You know the song?"

"Why wouldn't I? I'm obviously-"

"Which one is it then?"

Dazai was slightly surprised at the way Chuuya interrupted him. He was used to him sometimes speaking over him, of course, but those times were shushing him or screaming insults at him when he pissed him off. To be interrupted this calmly felt new, and in a sense, he didn't like it.

"Raindrops."

"Huh? That's the name? You're not messing with me, are ya?"

"Why would I mess with a tiny slug? You already have enough with being so small!"

Dazai kept trying to rebuild the facade. It wasn't completely working, but it covered the most vulnerable parts of him. Chuuya groaned.

A part of Dazai felt relieved. He was still the same Chuuya he knew.

They spent the rest of the mission bickering like they always did. Both of them knew now what the other would be doing late at night, but none wanted to speak of it.

By nighttime, back came Chuuya to the hall next to the piano room. He sat down and waited, a bit surprised that the song wasn't already started when he arrived. Did he mess up?

Now he knew who was in there. And now the one inside knew who was outside. Maybe the knowledge made them a bit more wary of what was going on?

Dazai looked at the keys in front of them, black and white like the world he's used to know, and sighed, making a choice. If he was going to open his heart to someone... At least, let it be Chuuya.

The song sounded... Different. Maybe it was the fact that Dazai's mind was screaming for him to stop before it was too late. Maybe it was the way his fingers trembled with each note.

Maybe it was how his heart ached more than usual today.

Bandaged fingers caressed each key as his bleeding soul was forced to pour it all out. All his hurt, sorrow and fears laid out for anyone to listen.

He knew only one person would, though.

By the end of it, he was looking down at the keys, hot tears falling on his hands. He quickly wiped them away when he heard a familiar knock, though this time was on the door.

Chuuya opened it, taking in the sight of Dazai sitting in front of the piano, the moonlight from the window creating the perfect silhouette. He closed the door behind him.

"I can finally see the piano. Looks expensive."

The silence grew tense, even if Chuuya tried to keep it light. Dazai stared at him and, for the first time, Chuuya saw a scared child instead of that monster everyone seems to know.

The eye that wasn't covered by bandages was wide, looking at Chuuya like a deer in headlights. He pursed his lips and sighed, taking a step forward as Dazai flinched back.

Chuuya stopped. He was used to this behaviour from when he was with the sheep. Sometimes kids with a lot of trauma would freeze like this, scared of everything, when something triggered them. Chuuya cursed himself for being the reason this time.

"Hey, I'm not gonna do anything weird. It's just me, idiot."

That seemed to calm him down, just a bit. Chuuya carefully approached him, step by step and with a soft demeanour, then offered a book. Dazai looked at it, methodically controlling his breathing.

"What's that?"

"Just take it..." Chuuya placed it on his lap and looked away. Dazai held it and caressed the cover. "It's... I keep a diary."

"Chuuya gave me his diary? What for?"

At that, Chuuya glanced at the piano, his gloved hand caressing one of the keys but not pressing it, as if he didn't know how.

"I'm no musician. Or artist of any kind. I've listened to your heart... But there's nothing I can give in return, so there. My diary."

Dazai looked up at him, his brain never thought the chance of an exchange like this with Chuuya of all people was possible, and yet here they were.

He offered the book back to him.

"It's not a fair exchange."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Chuuya retorted, his eyebrows knitted.

"You listened. I can't read it, I should listen too."

"The hell you want me to do? Read it like a bedtime story?"

"Don't read. Just tell me."

Chuuya froze.

From the first moment he heard him play, he had no choice in what to listen to. Everything was out in the open, so that's what he heard. Yeah, this time was different, but Dazai still chose to pour everything into it. And now that he was offered the same in return... He gave Chuuya a choice.

He could choose what to tell and what not to. What to show and what parts of his heart would be kept hidden. Even if he already knew what he'd do.

With a sigh, he sat down on the small bench, shoving Dazai aside to make room for himself.

"Where do I start...?"

During that night, they both gained more understanding of the other. They shared stories, laughs and sorrows. A deeper bond between them, one of unshakable trust.

Deep down... They both prayed for it to never break.

//hi hello hi!! I treated myself to some writing of an idea I had a long time ago, so here we are! I always thought Raindrops would suit Dazai so I had this thought. Hope you enjoyed! <33

[racfoam]

I am having another Harrymort idea. The only thing I'm not sure of is...

Well, hang on. Let me explain the setting first. Harry has a child when she is 21. Voldemort Wins AU. Harry and her son live in Grimmauld Place and everything is normal. As much as normal as it can get in a magical Britain ruled by Voldemort, anyway. Harry lives a normal life, her child makes friends, and avoids Voldemort as much as possible despite being his Horcrux.

There was no father.

Or, perhaps, there once had been a father.

“The Dark Lord killed him.” was the first whisper to explain why there was no father. It could ring true. The widely known thing about the Girl Who Lived after the war was that she was under the Dark Lord's protection. It was no less known thing how obsessed the Dark Lord was with the seventeen-year-old witch, hunting her across entire Britain to murder her.

It became a truth, the first whisper, regardless of its correctness. The Dark Lord killed the father of Harriet Potter’s child.

As Harriet Potter was sleeping, the Healers had to turn to the Dark Lord for the child’s name.

“Jamie,” the Dark Lord said, red eyes glancing to the boy in the bundle of white blankets before glancing back to the woman in the bed, as though the child was some unwanted guest. “Jamie Potter.”

Whenever the servants arrived in the wing to care for the two, they always found the Dark Lord there, watching the mother and son. He was always in the same place; sitting in a wingback, tall, green chair, about ten feet from the bed.

The Girl Who Lived never paid him any mind, giving all her attention to her baby.

The servants never saw the Dark Lord's red eyes blink, and they never saw him sleep. Not even when the Girl Who Lived and her child were asleep.

He was a constant, unnerving, distant presence.

Like a guard, they would think.

“Like a snake protecting its prey,” the others would whisper, “waiting for the right time to eat them.”

Days passed. Harriet Potter made a full recovery and she and her son were escorted by the Dark Lord himself back to Grimmauld Place.

With this ends all the known facts about Jamie Potter. As of the current release of this article, 2006, the boy is five-year-old.

The Dark Lord has been rumoured to have continued visiting Grimmauld Place. Whether this is true or not, only the aforementioned three can inform.

“I bet Jamie Potter’s his," a drunken wizard said in the Leaky Cauldron, after the story was finished by Tom the bartender. “I bet the vile man chugged her with Amortentia. He's always been obsessed with her. Monster.”

There were disgusted murmurs around. If the Dark Lord was infamous for anything, it was his own desires and the cruel being he was.

The rumours never ended. They became whispers, the sort of interesting topic to discuss over firewhiskey. The father remained a mystery. The Dark Lord revealed nothing, and neither did Harriet Potter.

One thing was certain.

Jamie Potter had green eyes and jet black hair, just like his mother.

And some Jamie POV

The first time Jamie met the Dark Lord, he thought he was having a nightmare.

[vulnonapix1234]

Not me cooking up a new au!

Dragon Ace for the win!

I say as I post a picture of his parents being disgustingly in love.

Basically, Rouge and Ace are the survivors of a once great race:

The dragon-skins, a nomadic race of mostly human looking people. Their bodies possed crystal like scales and horns, with the ability to turn into fire breathing Dragons.

They were hunted down by the celestial Dragons, till only a handful of them walked the land as free people.

Because of this, those survivors learned to hide their true nature until they were nearly indistinguishable to humans.

Now. Whilst the Whitebeard Pirates knew Rouge and her relationship with Roger, Whitebeard also knew that the man was infertile due to his sickness.

It was a shame, considering how much the man loved his wife and how much he fantasised spawning a little devil that would raise hell with her.

After his friend died and he tried to find Rouge, but when he found her remains, he believed that she died from depression, not knowing about the infant that was dropped off by some bandits.

When Thatch brought that little lizard to the ship, he didn't even make that connection.

The little thing, Jalapeño as his son called it, was quite the adorable thing. At least when it wasn't biting them.

It would often nap on his lap or in the sun, or chase after his children like a little kitten wanting to play or cuddle.

Their new pet was also extremely smart, being able to differentiate between the different family members, fetch them things when asked, and being as much as a help as a menace on the ship.

(He is pretty sure that his beloved daughter weaponized it to make him take his medicine and rest. Having a small animal give him sad eyes and pushing the alcohol out of his hand was a lot more effective than he would have liked. Not that he could ever prove it)

Everyone was heartbroken when it went missing after an altercation with the marines.

No matter where they searched, they couldn't find it.

They only learned what really happened when Thatch was attacked by Teach, when everyone was awoke by an loud crash and growl that seeminglt shook the entire ship.

Now. The all knew that Ace was Rouges kid from the moment he tried to take Whitebeards head.

Not only because of their surname and how much they looked alike, but because they had the same intensity when fighting.

(Some of the older members nearly fainted because they thought that he was the second coming of Rouge)

They also knew that he was Rogers rumoured son that somehow survived the infanticide.

(Their laughter and smiles are so alike that Whitebeard still gets that pang longing whenever he sees and hears it)

Anyway. This knowledge about his heritage didn't translate to them realizing that Ace could turn into a dragon like Rouge.

Only when they saw that big monster looming over their brother, a dagger buried in its shoulders, the curtain fell before their eyes.

Thatch, the person most affected by the loss of his first pet, recognized his little jalapeño despite the shock of nearly getting back stabbed by a brother.

After they got Ace patched up and realized what Teach tried to do (he was still able to flee with the devil fruit), the young man had to explain himself.

Apparently, he never mentioned his dragon-skin nature because he was afraid.

Celestial Dragons believed themselves to be the owners of his race and he knew that they would come for him.

Sure, they were the strongest crew in the world, but those bastards were on a different level.

He still remembers the fire made to please them, burning away so many lives.

There is also the fact that he grew up believing that they just forgot about him after garp brought him home.

It was also this feeling of abandonment, which made him want to hurt their dad.

It also made it harder for him to connect to his treasure, pushing people away from him despite his instincts telling him otherwise.

Only when Luffy, his brother by proxy, was hurt because of his loyalty to him, did he understand his mistake.

[haamuart]

You can take this as a random drawings of a 16th century aesthetic lady OR as I originally intended, as a Witcher OC. More under the cut. :D

SO as it reads on the doodle, this is Julia. She is Jaskier's sister, older or younger, this does not matter. Sometimes she is a twin. She is supposed to be very plain looking with a round face and kind of a square jaw, mousy brown hair and plain blue eyes. Her body build is a little heavy and not very shapely, not that it matters under her court clothes.

She originally appeared when I reimagined the Royal! or King!Jaskier prompt. Here's a few notes I remember of it:

Jaskier - sorry Julian - gets a permission to travel around to play his music - sorry, to get more familiar with the people he will rule over one day. Somehow both Julia and their mother manage to persuade the King to agree to this. The agreement includes Jaskier not revealing his true identity, which is NOT an issue.

Julia was always the one more inclined to politics. Jaskier was everything but that.

In the kingdom, everyone (including women and children) are heavily encourages to learn how to fight and warcraft. The country is known for their huge armies and for the fact that every single peasant could best another kingdom's royal knights in a fight. They do not get many visitors, and the King and his advisors prefer it that way.

(Geralt also avoids the place. If they are so good at fighting, they probably can handle their own monsters. This is true for the most part.)

The exception to the everyone-being-masters-of-self-defence are royal women. This might originate in the habit of royal men marrying outsider women, and if all other royal ladies were all for fighting, their wifes might seem less in comparison. Or some bullshit like that.

Julia does NOT like this rule. She, unlike her brother, would very VERY much like to learn how to defend herself and maybe also go on offence. Sometimes. You know, when time calls for it.

So anyway, young Jaskier knew how to physically fight and defend himself, but he just preferred not to. When he got out, he just did not keep his promise of keeping up the practice and forgot mostly everything. In some ways, initially, it is always a way to separate his Emotionless Crown Prince persona and what he truly wants himself to be.

Julia, sometime when Jaskier is away, gets more into politics even against his parents wishes. However, since there are no other children and Jaskier is away, they do not have a good reason to forbid her.

(Julia also manages to persuade one of her personal bodyguards (who also happens to be head of the royal guard) to teach her. They also might be slowly falling in love with each other but neither is willing to initiate anything.)

Anyway. After The Mountain

Jaskier hears his father has died. His father was still young, so Jaskier suspects it might not be normal. Or maybe he developed an illness? He wants to know for sure to satisfy his curiosity and worry, and he does not currently feel like he has anything else important to do. Might as well take a look.

(The father dying part is direct inspiration from another King!Jaskier story)

He does not expect to stay.

So heartbroken Jaskier packs his meagre belongings and goes on a long trip back to the kingdom that just might be his now.

When Jaskier- sorry, Julian- gets back to the capital, it is a mess. His subjects are worried, confused and scared, and a lot of rumours are flying. No one seems to know anything for a fact, and the royal palace has not output any official announcements.

Jaskier gets to the palace, is greeted by his sister and is promptly informet what happened.

What happened is thus:

The king indeed is dead. He had been assassinated. The court is not yet in shambles, but they are not agreeing on who did it. Everyone is blaming each other. Their mother is grieving, and refuses to do anything useful. She is supposed to be the regent.

Julia has been doing a lot of the work of running the kingdom, but officially she is powerless, and some advisors try to use this against her. She has to keep claiming the orders came from her mother, who she is supposedly comforting. In truth, she has barely set a foot in her mother's rooms.

Julia cries many tears of frustration that night, and Jask- Julian wishes he could too. He is already starting to feel his emotions numb, just like the last time he was here.

Julia is sure she knows who the true assassin was. The man would not shame himself in commissioning a kill when he can do it himself. She has tried to put the blame on him, but somehow it never sticks, For an instant she thinks Jaskier will be the same, but he is not. He takes everything she tells him in carefully and makes sure to remember. She has missed his brother.

So they talk for hours, and the next day, Jaskier makes an appearance at the court and promptly informs them that he will be crowned the next day.

The plot continues with Jaskier/Julian being crowned and then publically executing the guilty man. Julian slowly starts to struggle with anxiety and some symptoms of depression due to the atmosphere in the palace plus the fact that he is in a situation he desperately never wanted to be in even if he always knew it would come inevitably. He practically drugs himself every night just to calm down, and the effects last long enough that he manages get through the morning audience and some meetings. During this time he trusts Julia to make sure he never agrees to anything he would not with a clear head. He is not fine.

In the evenings, Julian, Julia, Julia's beau and maybe some others have a private meetings without most of the late King's advisors. They talk about what came up in the morning audience, what rumours everyone has heard etc. Some days, however, Julia just holds Julian as he cries.

Julian gives Julia an official permission to carry a sword because he knows she can handle it already. She can also finally start practicing outside, which is a relief. Julian himself also reluctantly starts practicing again. He hates it. In his clearer moments, Julian (or maybe this time Jaskier) drops hints both to Julia and her crush that they should maybe do something more than noticing how fetching the other is. It did not take him long to take notice of their respective crushes.

I was never sure what happened after this! Somehow Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri come across Jaskier, they hash things out, get into some epic plot and then ride into the sunset after Julia has been crowned the queen.

Sometimes there was also a plotline in which the royal guard use a little magic called "the shadow technique", which in practice includes having your hands tattooed, and pinching certain places together allows you to move faster, get blended in the shadows, and idk maybe something else too. Julia was never allowed to get the tattoos no matter how dearly she hoped, and as Jaskier is now the king, he knows he will have to. However, he is scared because he does not know how it will affect his playing. He tries to postpone it as much as he can but then something changes his mind so he agrees to the process when Julia is out for a patrol. She is mad at him and sad that she could not be here to comfort him for the pain.